


Tumblr Fics

by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)



Series: Random Works and Drabbles [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, Tags will be at the beginning of each piece
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-27
Updated: 2018-10-08
Packaged: 2019-07-18 04:23:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 22,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16110728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wasterella/pseuds/isthatbloodonhisshirt
Summary: Various Tumblr Fics that have been going up. Any summaries/warnings will be in the notes at the beginning of each piece.





	1. Heels

**Author's Note:**

> Teen Wolf (c) Jeff Davis.
> 
> One-Word Prompt Request for onwardsandfourwords on Tumblr. 
> 
> Request was "HEELS" with Stiles & Lydia.  
> Warnings: None.

“I can’t decide between the red and the black,” Lydia insisted, twisting in the mirror and lifting one foot off the ground so she could see the heel better. She set it back down and faced it properly, hands on her hips and sighing. “The red really pops, which I definitely want, but the black goes with everything.”

“What does it matter what goes with the black heels, aren’t you wearing that dress?” Stiles asked from her bed, shoving cheetos into his mouth and only half-paying attention to Lydia. His phone was much more entertaining, and while he loved watching her pick out her wardrobe, she’d been ho-humming about the shoes for at least ten minutes, switching back and forth between red and black.

“I am, but what if I change my mind on the dress?” She turned to Stiles and snapped her fingers at him. “You’re supposed to be _helping_.”

“I said I liked the red, not my fault you won’t listen.” Stiles shoved his phone back into his pocket and dug into his cheetos again. “Why don’t you try one of each on and we can look at them both?”

“I suppose.” Lydia heaved a great sigh, as if he were being troublesome, but obediently switched out the shoe on her left foot with the other heel, standing in front of the mirror and smoothing out her dress, eying her shoes with a frown. “I think I’d get grumpy wearing the red ones all night. They’re a little higher, they’ll start to hurt after a while.”

“Why would you buy shoes that hurt?”

“Because they make my legs look terrific,” she insisted, giving him a look in the mirror. “Pain is a small price to pay for beauty, Stiles.”

He just shrugged and listened to her ho-hum some more before she decided to switch out her dress. Stiles watched her walk to the bathroom with the new outfit, and once the door was closed, he glanced over at the shoes still sitting in front of the mirror.

Girls were weird. Why would anyone buy shoes that hurt? And how good could they _really_  make her legs look?

Shrugging, Stiles finished off his bag of cheetos before standing to toss it out, wiping his cheese-dust fingers on his pants and leaving behind orange streaks. He started to head back for the bed, then glanced at the shoes again.

Turning to make sure Lydia was still in the bathroom, he hopped on one foot to take his sock off, then moved towards the shoes. They were quite a bit small, because Lydia had dainty little feet, but Stiles figured he could probably squeeze into one of them. He stuck his foot into one of the red heels, shifting it from side to side and made a face when his toes got squashed.

_Way_  too small, but he could deal with it for a few seconds. He turned to walk, finding it odd since he was tall on one foot and short on the other, and made another face.

“Oh God, why would women subject themselves to this?” The ball of his foot was hurting already and he’d barely made it halfway across the room. This was ridiculous. It couldn’t make _that_  much of a difference!

Walking back to the shoes, he started to take it off, but then shrugged and pulled his other sock off, almost falling over because _wow_  was it hard to balance on the heels. He shoved his other foot into the second red heel and then turned and almost broke his fucking ankle.

“How do they _walk_  in these?!” he demanded of nobody, both hands out in front of himself, as if that would help him keep his balance. He slowly moved forward in the heels, but felt like this was ridiculous. They hurt, they were uncomfortable, and they were a fucking _bitch_  to walk in.

When he turned back to the mirror, he paused for a second, and then very carefully—almost losing his balance multiple times—bent down to pull up his jeans as high as he could make them go. Once they were up close to his knees, he began to slowly walk towards the mirror, then away from it, glancing over his shoulder.

“Shit, they _do_  make your legs look good. And my ass, too, holy shit.” Stiles patted his butt a few times, grinning while walking away from the mirror and ended up hitting Lydia’s desk.

He almost lost his footing again, and decided he needed to keep his eyes on his feet until he could walk a little more smoothly in these monstrous things.

Lydia was still in the bathroom—from the sounds of it, having a fight with her zipper—so he just walked back and forth in her room for a few seconds, rolling his ankles every now and then, but he eventually kind of got the hang of it.

“These are actually kind of neat,” he realized, walking back and forth a little more confidently and checking himself out in the mirror. “Women have unlocked the secrets of beauty, this is crazy, I love this. Why don’t men have heels?”

He was on his way back towards the desk, checking himself out in the mirror and relishing the awesomeness of his ass with these heels on when his eyes shifted to the corner of the mirror and he saw Lydia standing in the bathroom doorway with her arms crossed and her eyebrows raised.

Stiles whipped around to look at her, stumbling and grabbing at her desk for balance. She just kept staring at him, eyebrows slowly rising even further.

“This isn’t what it looks like,” he said slowly.

“Mmhm. Take off my heels please, before you stretch them out.”

“Right.” Stiles hastily took them off and picked them up, walking back to the mirror and setting them back down.

Lydia was smirking to herself while going to inspect her new dress, sliding her stockinged feet into the red heels and turning to look at her own ass.

“I think you’re right. The red ones are good.”

“Like I said,” Stiles said, pulling his socks back on and avoiding looking at her. “Red’s the way to go.”

“Mm. Oh, and Stiles?”

“Yeah?”

“The heels really _did_  make your ass look good.”

“Right?!”

**END.**


	2. Nail Polish

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One-Word Prompt Request for ninakask on Tumblr.
> 
> Request was "NAILPOLISH" with Sterek. (Technically two words, but I took it :P)  
> Warnings: Mentions of sexual content, mentions of violence

Derek had no idea how he’d allowed Stiles to talk him into this, but he should’ve known better than to doubt his ability to convince him to do basically anything. It was like a gift.

That, or a spell. Really, Derek wasn’t sure. It could’ve been a spell. Maybe Stiles was magic. Or maybe Derek was one of those sleeper agents who was activated by a code-word and Stiles knew the code-word and it somehow got him to do anything he wanted him to do.

Who knew? Not Derek, that was for sure.

“This is nice. Isn’t this nice?” Stiles turned to grin at him.

Derek just slowly turned to look at him, Stiles beaming at him like ten thousand fucking suns, and then slowly faced forward again because no. No, this wasn’t nice. This was ridiculous. And embarrassing. And a waste of money, actually.

How had Stiles talked him into this again?

Right. In the guise of “we need to _relax_ , Derek!”

After the most recent big bad, Stiles had adamantly insisted that he and Derek needed to go relax, and apparently relaxing in Stiles’ book was booking a spa day. They were literally the only men in the entire damn place, and _way_  too many women had been checking him out on his way from one room to another.

It made him uncomfortable. No one should be looking at him in that way except for Stiles. Who _had_  been looking at him in that way, but that was hardly the point. The point was, _other_  people had been looking at him in that way, and it made him uncomfortable.

But, Stiles was happy, and that was the important thing. They’d gone off to do all the usual spa things, none of which Derek understood. At one point they were in a mud bath.

A literal mud bath.

He’d turned to Stiles while they were lying side by side and had said, “If you wanted me to cover you in mud, I could’ve just thrown you into the dirt back at the Preserve.”

Stiles had just beamed at him and settled back comfortably.

Derek was positive there were places this mud was going that he was _never_  going to be able to clean.

The massage had been—all right. Not great, not appreciated because he wasn’t fond of other people touching him when he didn’t know them, but it had been all right. Tolerable. Some muscles had loosened up, he supposed.

And his skin felt weirdly smooth. He didn’t know that he liked that, because Stiles always commented on how much he loved his rough beard so he assumed Stiles liked his rough skin. But well, something to worry about later. And it wasn’t like their lives weren’t going to bring forth more situations where Derek’s skin would harden up again.

He wouldn’t stay baby smooth forever, thank God.

They were now in the last phase before ‘release.’

‘Freedom,’ more like.

This was probably the most embarrassing by _far_ , though, because they were currently sitting in comfy, plush leather seats, and they each had a woman across from them filing their nails.

Derek had vehemently argued the manicure, because it was ridiculous and _pointless_  for him since he was a fucking _Werewolf_ , and claws just grew at the flick of his wrist, but _no_. It was part of the package, and Stiles insisted they had to finish it off with the manicure.

So, here Derek was, sitting in the plush leather chair, watching some poor likely underpaid woman file his nails.

Manicures were ridiculous. Why pay someone to cut your nails when you could do that yourself? Derek had nail clippers, he cut his own damn nails when he deemed it necessary. He saw no point in having someone else do this for him when he was perfectly capable of doing it himself.

Thankfully, they were almost done. Almost done with this ridiculous day, and while he was glad Stiles looked so happy, he also was never doing this again. He was going to find that code-word Stiles used on him and he was going to ensure that he stopped it from escaping his boyfriend’s mouth the second it sounded like he was trying to talk him into something unpleasant.

The woman across from him had just put his hand down in the basin, and he was positive she was done, but she pulled out a small bottle of clear nail polish and Derek instantly retreated his hands when she reached for his left one, getting water on his bathrobe.

Yes, he was in a fucking _bathrobe_.

“I don’t need that,” he informed her.

“It’s nail strengthener,” she explained calmly, having already dealt with his sour expressions and clipped tone for the past few minutes.

“I don’t need that,” he said again.

“Scared of a little nail polish?” Stiles teased from beside him.

Derek turned to glare at him and saw that he already had one hand part of the way done, not a care in the world that the polish was being applied.

“My nails are fine,” he said curtly. Which was true, because his nails turned into claws and he could disembowel Stiles with ease if he wanted to.

Which he didn’t normally, but it was tempting right now with the smirk on his boyfriend’s face.

“Come on, Derek. It’s part of the experience. Don’t be such a sourwolf.”

“Stop calling me that,” Derek replied grumpily. “And no.”

“Come _on_ , Derek.”

“No.”

“Please?”

“No.”

Stiles sighed and held up his index finger of his free hand. The woman across from him pulled back and Stiles leaned over closer, lips brushing Derek’s ear when he spoke and voice lowering. Stiles _knew_  Derek could hear him without being this close, so he was obviously just trying to get a rise out of him.

It was working, the fucking asshole.

“It’s part of the experience, Derek,” Stiles breathed hotly against his ear. “If you behave, and stop being such a downer, I’ll blow you on our way home. Might even get you to lose control of the car, I’ll suck you so good.”

Derek’s expression didn’t change, but he felt himself stirring downstairs.

Stiles did not like giving blowjobs. It was something Derek had learned early on in their relationship. He loved sex, and he loved _receiving_  blowjobs, but he did not like _giving_  them. Stiles reserved offering blowjobs for special occasions. Like birthdays, and holidays, and holy-shit-you-almost-died days.

Derek turned to Stiles when his boyfriend pulled away. Stiles wasn’t looking at him, but he had a smarmy little smirk on his face when he put his hands back down for the woman across from him to continue with the coat of polish.

He wasn’t going to let Stiles win. Not like this. It was too easy. He would know he could manipulate him! Derek was _not_  going to put fucking nail polish on, no matter _what_  Stiles said!

Derek slammed one hand down on the table, making the lady across from him jump.

“Just put the damn polish on.”

Fucking Stiles. He was going to be the death of him.

**END**


	3. Playground

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One-Word Prompt Request for grimmypuff on Tumblr.
> 
> Request was "PLAYGROUND" with Sterek.   
> Warnings: Mentions of violence

Derek was annoyed. Frustrated and annoyed. Actually, _angry_ , frustrated, and annoyed. He felt like he didn’t ask for much. He was a reasonable sort of guy, he just wanted to go out, have a good time, enjoy himself, the usual. That wasn’t too much to ask, in his opinion.

He and Stiles didn’t really _go out_. Not because they didn’t want to, but because it was difficult, and something usually always happened. But Derek had been determined this time. He’d told Scott _not_  to call them, no matter _what_  was happening because for four fucking hours, just _four hours_ , Derek wanted to just be normal.

Just a normal guy on a normal date with a normal boyfriend. Just perfectly and boringly _normal_.

It had started out great. He’d gone to pick up Stiles, had pretended _not_  to be severely attracted by how great he looked in the suit, and they’d made it to the restaurant the next county over with time to spare. They were seated, they perused the menu, they played footsies—well, Stiles did. Derek just tolerated it, though he did smile behind his menu because Stiles was fucking adorable.

Everything had been perfect. Just two normal guys out on a normal date.

And of course, that was when the Chimera came flying through the window. Followed by Scott. And the Pack. And it was mayhem and chaos, and people were screaming and running, and the police were on their way, and Derek just wanted to have _a normal fucking date with his boyfriend_.

But no. Instead, he was pulled into the fighting, Stiles knocked someone out by accident with a tray, and they all had to scatter when the cops arrived. Stiles wasn’t even in the Camaro with him when he peeled out of the lot, somehow it was Liam. Derek didn’t even know if Stiles had a ride back or if he’d accidentally abandoned him back at the restaurant!

So, yes, Derek was angry, frustrated, and annoyed. Because he couldn’t ever just take Stiles out on a real, proper date without some catastrophe interfering with his plans.

They reconvened at Deaton’s, like they always did after a shitstorm, and Derek breathed a sigh of relief when he saw Stiles hobbling over to him from Scott’s bike, having obviously ridden the hour back on the infernal machine.

“I can’t feel my dick,” he muttered to Derek, rearranging himself fairly obviously while moving to stand beside him.

“Sorry about your date,” Scott said awkwardly. “We didn’t exactly plan to gatecrash.”

“It’s all good,” Stiles insisted, waving one hand.

Derek turned to glare at him because _no_ , Stiles. It was _not_ ‘all good.’

The Pack was still discussing what to do next, but Derek just informed them all that he and Stiles were leaving. No one seemed interested in stopping them, so he pushed Stiles into the car, climbed behind the wheel, and peeled off.

Everything was fucking ruined, now. Their evening of alone time was over, and Derek was angry, frustrated, and annoyed. Maybe this wasn’t in the cards for them. Maybe they didn’t warrant ten fucking minutes of alone time where they could be normal people.

Maybe this was their life forever. Just constantly getting interrupted by something horrible happening. Stiles’ suit was ruined, and Derek was pretty sure the Chimera blood was never coming out of his shirt. Why couldn’t they just have one normal fucking evening?

“Hey, turn in here. Let’s get some ice cream,” Stiles said, motioning a McDonald’s.

“We didn’t even have dinner,” Derek snapped, much more harshly than he’d intended, but Stiles was used to him by now and just slapped at his arm until he obediently turned.

They went through the drive-thru and Stiles ordered them both full meals along with some McFlurries. Derek paid, because by God, if they weren’t going to eat at a high-end restaurant, he was at least going to fucking pay for the crappy McDonald’s.

Once Stiles had everything in his lap, he told Derek to turn left on the way out. Derek had no idea what he was planning, but he obeyed, and followed Stiles’ directions all the way to their old elementary school.

Derek parked in the empty lot, turning to give Stiles a confused look since this was a _school_  and it was well past nine by now.

Stiles offered no explanation. He just grinned at him, then kicked open his door and climbed out, holding a drink-tray which contained both their drinks _and_  their ice cream, and the take-out bag with their burgers and fries.

Sighing explosively, Derek followed, locking up the car, and walking along behind Stiles while he headed for the back of the school. They crossed the large field and walked over a hill towards the farthest part of the school grounds, and Derek frowned when he saw Stiles picking his way down the other side of the hill towards a playground.

It was fairly old, and didn’t have any of the newer and cooler items most playgrounds had, but it had some monkey bars, and a fireman pole, and swings. The see-saw was still there, but Derek was pretty sure it was broken. Thankfully, Stiles didn’t head in that direction at all, and just made a bee-line for the swings.

Once he reached them, almost stumbling in the sand, he turned to Derek and held out the drink tray. Derek obediently took it while Stiles sat down on one of the swings, opening the bag and pulling out Derek’s burger before holding that out as well. Derek waited for Stiles to unwrap his own, then handed the drinks back and traded him for the take-out bag, sitting down himself on a neighbouring swing.

They were both silent while they ate, Stiles staring up at the star-speckled sky, and Derek keeping his eyes on him. Stiles probably couldn’t see much in the dark, but Derek could see him as clearly as if it was broad daylight.

Stiles was a mess, with his suit jacket ripped, his hair sticking up all over the place, and—inexplicably—one sock missing. But he was still gorgeous, and he looked content.

“I used to come here all the time with Scott when I was younger,” Stiles said softly, crumpling up the wrapper of his burger and taking a large sip of one of the drinks on the tray. “When my mom died. This was kind of my comfort place. I’d come out here with Scott and we’d mess around. Sometimes other kids would be here, but usually we’d try and come later in the day. His mom would always be working, and my dad... well, he was either working or hitting the bottle, so it was easy for us to come out whenever we wanted.”

Derek scanned the small playground, and tried to remember a period where he was ever here. He remembered it existed, but because of his Werewolf nature, his parents had always kind of shied away from the idea of any of their children playing with other kids. They always had to be careful, and even when Derek was older, he couldn’t do certain sports, and had to be _extremely_  careful with the ones he did. Never too fast, never too strong, always conscious of exactly how much energy he was exerting.

“I didn’t go to playgrounds much when I was little,” Derek admitted, digging his fries out of the bag and holding it out to Stiles. They traded the drink-tray for the bag again, Derek keeping it balanced on his knees so he could eat his fries. Stiles was still staring at the sky while he picked his fries up one at a time.

“Too good for it?” Stiles teased.

“Too risky. When you’re a kid, you don’t think about how different you are from the other kids. You’re a kid, and they’re a kid, and you just want to play. But when you’re a Werewolf and you can break someone’s arm by running into them too hard playing red rover, it kind of kills the fun.”

“Hm,” Stiles agreed. “Well, I was always partial to the swings. Scott and I didn’t really have many friends, and you don’t need a friend to play on the swings.”

“Was that your swing?” Derek asked with a small smile, motioning the one Stiles was currently sitting on.

“Yep. This was always mine. I used to try and swing up as high as I could and jump off. Tried to see how far I could go. I used to pretend I was flying back then. Things were simpler.”

“Yeah,” Derek agreed, crumpling up the fry container and waiting on Stiles to finish his so they could start on their ice cream.

Once they were both done with the food, Derek handed Stiles his McFlurry, and grabbed his own before setting the drink-tray on the grass to his left. Their drinks were still half-full, but they were less likely to get sand in them than the McFlurries were.

“Sorry about our date.”

“Not your fault, big guy.” Stiles reached over to slap him in the chest, smiling slightly. “That’s not us, anyway. Big fancy restaurants, nice suits, expensive meals. You know I’m fine with spending time with you.”

“I know.” Derek looked up at the sky as well and smiled a little. “It’s kind of peaceful out here.”

“Yeah, I like it. Come here sometimes when I want to think. Figured we could just have our date here. We don’t need to go out of our way, I’m fine just having you beside me.”

“Noted.” Derek looked back down into his ice cream, moving the soft serve around to find an oreo chunk. “Next date will be McDonald’s and the playground.”

“Hey, I’m down with that, as long as you’re buying. McDonald’s is expensive, man.”

Derek snorted and leaned over to lightly shove Stiles. The other swung away from him, then back towards him, smiling.

They finished their ice cream in silence, and when Stiles was done, he threw his trash towards where the drink-tray was to be dealt with later, and grabbed the chains on either side of himself, grinning at Derek.

“Bet you I can jump further than you can.”

“Bet you can’t and you’ll just hurt yourself.”

“I’ll take that bet.”

Derek rolled his eyes, but obediently began to swing back and forth.

He was definitely going to be stuck carrying Stiles back to the car after he hurt himself flying off the swing.

It would still be the best date ever.

**END.**


	4. Kittens

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One-Word Prompt Request for 9timesoutoften on Tumblr.
> 
> Request was "KITTENS" with Stiles & Derek.  
> Warnings: Does aggressive cat count as a warning?

“Explain to me why I’m here again?”

“Because you said you’d come with me today, and thus you are in my car now, and you are with me, coming to do what I want to do today.”

“Right.” Derek turned to Stiles. “Rephrasing. Explain to me why you’re making me come with you to a farm to see a new litter of kittens when you know I’m a Werewolf and I am probably just going to make them all _extremely_  nervous?”

“You will not,” Stiles argued, turning down a long drive towards a farmhouse, a bright smile on his face.

“Stiles, animals hate me. They get confused. They see a human, but smell something else. They know I’m a predator, and they’re kittens, and their mom is probably going to attack the shit out of me.”

“You’ll be fine,” Stiles insisted, flapping one hand absently towards Derek.

He almost lost it, because Derek was extremely tempted to just bite it off.

Stiles was just lucky he put it back on the wheel when he did, turning to park in an open area and turning off the Jeep. He grinned at Derek, drumming excitedly on the steering wheel, then exited the car and slammed his door.

Derek sighed, knowing this was going to go _horribly_ , but figured Stiles could see that for himself. Stiles wanted to get a cat, so he was going to get a cat, and it would hate all of his friends with a hot, fiery, burning passion since they were _all_  Werewolves and that would be Stiles’ problem.

He’d pout and be a whiny brat when no one came to visit him anymore, and he’d have no one to blame but himself.

Climbing out of the car, Derek shut the door loudly and followed after Stiles, who was already halfway to the barn at the back. Apparently the owner was a family friend of the sheriff’s, and since Stiles was actively looking for a cat, he was getting first pick of the newest litter.

Derek watched Stiles and the woman hug and make small talk while waiting for him to approach, and he eyed the large cardboard box by the barn door apprehensively.

The horses to his left were whinnying nervously and pawing at the ground, and a dog in the house was barking its head off. He severely hoped mama cat was somewhere else, because he did _not_  want to get his eyes scratched out. Cats were super aggressive when it came to Werewolves, and Derek had already experienced that first hand.

How Scott still insisted on being a vet, Derek had no idea. Stupidity, he supposed.

“This is Derek,” Stiles said when he approached, beaming at him. “He came to help me pick out the perfect kitten.”

“Nice to meet you, Derek.” The woman shook his hand, but didn’t offer her name. Derek just smiled politely, and then followed the other two towards the cardboard box, wincing internally since this was going to be _terrible_.

As predicted, when they approached the box, the kittens inside went crazy. They were meowing loudly, stumbling over each other, and all trying to get to the far side of the box away from where Derek was coming from.

“That’s odd,” the woman said, crouching in front of the box and picking up one of the kittens, which immediately squirmed and dug tiny little claws into her hands, trying to get away. “They were all perfectly fine when I checked on them a minute ago.” She set the kitten back down and bent over to check on the litter.

Stiles cast a glance at Derek, who raised his eyebrows in a clear ‘I told you so’ way, when the inevitable happened.

A yowl preceded the cat landing on Derek’s back, claws digging right into his skin. He let out a shout, mostly of shock than of actual pain, and reached back to try and grab at the animal to get it off.

“Smokey!” The woman was beside Derek instantly, wrenching the cat off his back. “What is the _matter_  with you?! I’m so sorry, Derek, she’s never like this.”

Derek winced, feeling the small wounds healing up, and turned to watch the woman hurry back to the house with the flailing cat. It was trying to crawl up over her shoulder, hissing and spitting in Derek’s direction.

He very maturely flashed his eyes at it. Normally that made animals hunch in on themselves, but it looked like mama cat was more worried about her babies than herself, because she kept fighting the whole time she was being led back to the house.

When the woman disappeared inside with the cat, Derek turned back to Stiles.

“Ow,” he said emphatically.

“Oh, whatever, it healed up in like, a second.” Stiles waved one hand dismissively, then bent down in front of the box.

Derek wanted to keep his distance, but he didn’t often get to be around animals—for obvious reasons—so he inched a little closer and craned his neck. The kittens were all still freaking out and pressing themselves against the further side of the box, but when he leaned closer, he noticed there was one of them that wasn’t doing that.

One of the kittens—white, black and orange in colour—was sitting peacefully at the front of the box, staring up at Derek with big brown eyes. It mewed softly when they made eye contact and he cocked an eyebrow.

“What, no survival instincts?” he asked the kitten.

It just mewed at him again.

Stiles reached into the box to pick it up, cradling it carefully in his hands and smiling when it began to purr.

“It sounds like a little motor,” he said with a laugh.

Then he held it out to Derek.

Derek stared at Stiles, then the kitten, then Stiles again. When it didn’t immediately freak out, he carefully reached out and took the animal from Stiles, holding it close to his chest and feeling its tiny body vibrating with its purr.

“Definitely no survival instincts,” Derek said with a small smile, petting the kitten under the chin with one finger. It was kind of cute, and it sort of reminded him of someone else he knew who wasn’t scared of things he _should_  be scared of.

“I think he likes you,” Stiles said with a grin.

“He’s kind of cute.”

“What do you say, little guy?” Stiles asked the kitten, carefully taking it back from Derek and holding it close to his chest. “You wanna come home with daddy Stiles? I promise Derek will come visit you.”

“If he stays this chill, I actually might.” Derek reached out and pet the kitten gently.

It really _did_  remind him of a certain brown-eyed human who stood firm in the face of danger. This was actually the perfect little guy for someone like Stiles. And Derek liked that he’d actually been able to _hold_  it without the poor thing freaking out.

“Yes. This is the one.” Stiles held the cat aloft and smiled, lightly pressing his nose to the kitten’s. “You’re coming home with me, Mr. Snookums.”

“You’re not naming him that.”

“Why not? He’s _my_  cat.”

“You’re not naming him that. Give him a normal name.”

Stiles held the animal to his chest while he and Derek headed for the house. “Sir McSnuggles?”

“No.”

“Puffmuncher?”

“No.”

“What about Cuddlekins?”

“Double no.”

It was going to be a long ride back to town, but Derek was _not_  going to let that cat suffer with a horrible name.

A cat as amazing as this deserved an amazing name, and Derek was going to make sure he got it.

“I could always call him Sourwolf.”

“I hate you.”

“You adore me.”

**END.**


	5. Closet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One-Word Prompt Request for swlfangirl on Tumblr.
> 
> Request was "CLOSET" with Sterek.   
> Warnings: NSFW-ish

It had been entirely too long since Stiles had last seen Derek.

If he had to be specific, then it had been exactly seven hours, four minutes, and twenty seconds.

Twenty-one.

Twenty-two.

Twenty—the point was, it had been entirely too long!

Which was why he was going to suck all the damn oxygen out of his lungs the moment he showed up. Whenever that may be. Hopefully soon. They were in the thirty-second range now. And Stiles was deprived. He was _deprived_  and he needed his Derek fix.

Jumping, startled, when he heard a thump to his left, he turned and grinned when he saw Derek closing his bedroom window and lowering the shade.

“What took you so long?” Stiles demanded, making no move to get up from his desk chair.

Because, yes, he was _desperate_  to have his hands on Derek right now, but he didn’t want _Derek_  to know that! That would give him entirely too much power, and hell no, Derek had enough power, thank you very much! With the grr, and the slash, and the awoo.

It was better for everyone when Derek didn’t know how much power he had _on top_ of the usual.

“I’m sorry, was my trek across town not fast enough for you?”

“No,” Stiles informed him, watching Derek come closer.

The Werewolf smirked, bending down to place both hands on either armrest of his desk chair, face inches away.

“I can always leave.”

“Don’t you fucking dare.” Stiles wrapped his arms around Derek’s neck and yanked him closer, slotting their lips together. Derek had evidently had coffee recently, because he tasted like coffee. It wasn’t unpleasant, just added to the overall sensory overload of kissing Derek.

And man did he love kissing Derek.

Which was why he let out a noise of protest when Derek pulled back, unable to go far since Stiles still had his arms wrapped around him, but far enough that they weren’t kissing anymore.

“Bed.”

“Yes, bed,” Stiles agreed eagerly.

Derek ducked out from under his arms and took a few steps back, toeing off his shoes while pulling his shirt up over his head.

Stiles was less graceful, almost tripping in his haste to get his pants off and somehow managing to get his arms tangled in his shirt when he tried to pull it off. Thankfully Derek just yanked it off for him, and kissed him again, warm hands on his hips and walking backwards to the bed.

Pulling away briefly when Derek finally reached it, Stiles shoved him backwards on the bed, grinning when the other bounced once, and then crawled on top of him, straddling his waist. Derek was already half-hard, which was fine by Stiles, because he was definitely at full attention and in desperate need of Derek’s hands on him.

He bent down and proceeded to suck lewdly on Derek’s tongue, dragging his nails along his toned chest and pleased at the sharp exhale he got when he passed over a nipple.

Derek had one hand at the back of his neck, and the other smoothing down Stiles’ stomach and _lower_  when they both froze at the sound of a door slamming shut downstairs.

“What was that?” Stiles asked, face still so close to Derek’s that they were breathing the same air.

“Your dad,” Derek informed him the exact same moment his name was called up the stairs.

“What the fuck!” Stiles hissed urgently, jerking upright and letting Derek roll off the bed. “Why didn’t you hear him come back?!”

“I was a little _preoccupied_ , Stiles!” Derek snapped back quietly, hurrying to gather his clothes.

“Shit, _shit_!”

Technically speaking, Derek wasn’t allowed at Stiles’ place when the sheriff wasn’t home, because he didn’t want them to do things under his roof. While he knew his dad was aware they did the dirty at Derek’s place, he seemed to just pretend that wasn’t the case and that they were both just sitting innocently together on the couch watching a movie, and Stiles wasn’t bent over the coffee table moaning louder than the action sequence on the screen.

“Go, go!” Stiles tried to get his window open, but his dad was already on the second floor, and he would hear it slide open, and oh _shit_!

Without a second’s hesitation, Derek just turned and threw himself into the closet, pulling the door shut and dropping one of his shoes. Stiles hastily kicked it under his bed, dove beneath the covers, and grabbed a random book off his nightstand just in time for his dad to open his door.

“Hi dad!”

Too loud. Too exuberant. Whoops.

“Stiles,” he said suspiciously, moving further into the room. “What are you doing?”

“Reading in bed,” he informed him, waving the book.

“Uh huh.” He gave him his best ‘I totally believe you’ face—which meant he didn’t believe him at _all_ —and crossed his arms. “Where’s your shirt?”

“It’s hot out, I got hot.”

“It’s the middle of November.”

“And super hot!” Stiles fanned himself with the book. “Man, that heat, am I right?”

The sheriff stared at him, then sighed and shook his head. “I texted you but you didn’t respond. Mrs. O’Neill next door says she saw a suspicious character on our roof. Thinks they might’ve been trying to break in.”

“What? No way, no one breaks into our house, it’s the _sheriff’s_  house.” He rolled his eyes. “She probably knocked back a few.” He motioned drinking alcohol and nodded sagely.

His dad stared at him for a few seconds and Stiles’ eyes unwillingly went to the closet when he heard something fall.

The sheriff pursed his lips, then slowly turned to look at the closet as well, arms still crossed. When he turned back to Stiles, his son offered him his most winning smile.

Letting out an explosive sigh, the sheriff brought one hand to his face and rubbed his thumb and forefinger against his eyes.

“Derek’s in the closet, isn’t he?”

“What?” Stiles demanded, several octaves higher than normal before scoffing. “No. What? No way. Why would–why would he be in the closet? Dad. Come on.”

“Derek,” his father said, still rubbing at his eyes, “get out here.”

For a few seconds, nothing happened. Then, slowly, the closet door began to open and the sheriff dropped his hand, turning to look at him.

It definitely wasn’t helping matters that Derek was naked barring his boxers, and had a half-hard dick clearly visible since he was an _idiot_  and not using his _clothes_  to fucking _block his boner_!

“Sheriff,” he said awkwardly. It looked like he was worried he was going to get shot.

Again.

His father turned back to look at Stiles, eyebrows raised.

Stiles stared back for a few seconds, then blurted out, “Derek came out of the closet! It’s official! Way to go, buddy.”

“Stiles.”

“It’s _magic_ , dad! Like, wow. Much awesome. So wow. Magic Derek Hale, coming out of a closet near you!”

“Stiles.”

He stared at his father for a long moment then sighed. “I’m grounded, aren’t I?”

“Very.” The sheriff turned back to Derek. “Get your clothes back on. You know where the door is.”

“Yup.” Derek practically raced out of the room, like a _traitor_!

Stiles found some small sense of satisfaction when he immediately returned and dug under the bed for his other shoe, but then he ran out like a _traitor_  again.

His dad said nothing, staring at Stiles while they both waited for the front door to open and close. Stiles wasn’t sure if Derek was fully dressed or not because he seemed to have exited the house remarkably fast.

“We’re having words later,” the sheriff informed him.

“In my defence—I fully intended to have him gone before you got home.”

He got another look for that, then his dad turned and walked out of his room, shutting his bedroom door while saying, “Two weeks.”

“Two weeks?!” Stiles demanded. “Dad!”

“That’s what you get for hiding Derek in your closet.”

“He was just admiring my wardrobe! Come on, dad! Dad!”

“Two weeks!”

The second his dad was gone, Stiles was _totally_  calling Derek to come back.

**END.**


	6. Meteor Shower

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One-Word Prompt Request for greythunderkat on Tumblr.
> 
> Request was "METEOR" with Sterek. (I went with Meteor Shower).  
> Warnings: Mentions of sexual content.

“You know you’re being creepy, right? A creepy creeper? A creepy creeper that is creepy? A creepy creeper that is creepy who—”

“Are you done?” Derek asked from beside him.

“I could probably keep going,” Stiles insisted, turning to grin at him.

Or—where he was assuming Derek was, anyway. That was what tied in to the whole creepy creeper who was creepily doing creepy things. Because Stiles was blindfolded, and Stiles did not like being blindfolded, because it was uncomfortable not knowing what was coming.

Maybe Derek was about to eat him, who knew? Not Stiles, because he was _blindfolded_  and it would come out of _nowhere_  and his dad would be mad and blood was a _bitch_  to get out of clothing.

Stiles knew this from experience. There was always a lot of blood involved in his life.

Actually, that was depressing.

“Stop being impatient, we’re almost there.”

“Almost where, exactly? Because it’s late, and I’m tired, and we’ve been driving for a while, and blood is hard to get out of fabric, also I’ve been putting on a little weight lately, so I’m probably kinda fatty.” Stiles poked at his own stomach.

He heard the eyeroll in Derek’s response. “Do I want to know where your brain is headed?”

“Depends on if you’re about to eat me in a kinky way or in a ‘no, please stop, you’re hurting me, bleh, gurgle, hack, death’ way.”

“Why do I even like you?”

“I am the most amazing person you know.”

“Not saying much when I only know about four and a half people.”

Stiles frowned, turning to him. “A half? What the fuck, who’s a half?”

“Peter. Technically he’s undead, so he counts as a half.”

Letting out a bark of laughter, Stiles shook his head and then grabbed for the dash when the car stopped. It hadn’t been an abrupt stop, but everything was scarier when he couldn’t see and he _didn’t like it_. He was going to have to make sure this was addressed if they ever got kinky in the bedroom.

No blindfolds for the Stiles. The Stiles was not fond of the not seeing thing.

“Can I take this off now?”

“No. Wait here.”

“What?!”

Stiles heard the car door slam and instantly hunched over slightly, feeling uncomfortable. The trunk was shut a moment later and he jumped when his door was opened.

“Stop being so jumpy.”

“We live in Beacon Hills and I was just driven out to an unknown location by a Werewolf while blindfolded, _you_  stop being so jumpy!”

“Stiles, we’ve been dating for two years, if I was going to kill you, I’d have done it by now.”

“That’s debatable,” he muttered, but obediently undid his seatbelt since it was clear they were now leaving the car.

He climbed out awkwardly, Derek grabbing his arm to help lever him from the car, and the door was shut. Wherever they were, it was far away from any roads or residential areas, because all he heard were crickets, rustling and the soft sound of leaves moving in a light breeze.

Derek took his hand and tugged gently, Stiles following along. He stumbled every now and then, but he attributed that mostly to not being able to see. Derek was very conscious of where they stepped and gave Stiles ample warning when he had to climb over something or duck under branches.

The walk seemed to take an exceptionally long time, but Stiles figured that was all in his head because it was hard to gage how much time had passed without constantly checking his phone. He just forced himself to pay attention to where he was going and listened to Derek’s instructions.

After a few minutes—or several hours, it was hard to tell, okay!—they stopped and Derek let go of his hand.

“Uh, _really_  not comfortable with that,” Stiles insisted, reaching out one hand towards where Derek had just been.

“I’m right here,” Derek said from a few feet away. “Just one second.”

Stiles waited uncomfortably, listening to Derek do... whatever he was doing. He couldn’t tell. He heard him open something, and then rustling, and shifting, and after a veritable _eternity_ , he was back at his side.

“Come on. Over here. Okay, now sit.”

Stiles slowly lowered himself, one hand holding Derek’s and the other placed down to help him sit properly. He frowned when he felt what had to be some kind of blanket under his hand, and Derek coaxed him onto his back.

He really hoped they weren’t about to have sex in the middle of the forest because, while he was cool with this kind of thing, he felt like it might kill the mood if they got attacked by a bear or something. And he also didn’t want to get a mosquito bite on his ass.

Or worse, his _dick_.

But so far, there was no removal of the clothing, so he settled comfortably on his back and waited while Derek shifted around beside him. After a few seconds, Stiles jumped when he felt fingers at his temples.

“You’re ridiculous,” Derek said endearingly.

“I don’t like not being able to see,” he insisted, trying not to pout. The kiss he got suggested he’d failed in his attempt.

“It’ll be worth it. Promise.”

The blindfold slid off, Stiles blinking a few times since it was still extremely dark out, but when he focussed on the sky above him, his lips parted in a soft gasp at the streaks of light moving across the inky blackness.

“Are those...?”

“Meteors,” Derek said, lying beside him, close enough that Stiles could feel the heat radiating off him. “Orionids.”

“Bless you?”

Derek laughed. “It’s the name of the shower. It’s usually active between the end of September and the beginning of November.”

Stiles didn’t take his eyes off the sky, but he felt a warm hand sliding into his and squeezing.

“You always said our lives were busy and stressful, I figured we could have a change of pace, for once. Just come out and enjoy the shower together.”

Stiles turned to smile at Derek, squeezing his hand back tightly. “This is awesome. Thanks, Derek.”

“You’re welcome. I’m glad you like it.”

“It’s amazing.” Stiles looked back up at the sky, watching the little lines of light make their way slowly from one side of the clearing they were in to the other. “How long does it usually last?”

“It depends. Sometimes a few hours, other times a little less. I brought some snacks, so we can stay as long as you like.”

Stiles turned to grin at Derek, then scooted a little closer to him to keep warm, because Werewolves ran hotter than most and it was like snuggling with a nice, soft radiator. That snuggled back too, so that was pretty great.

“I don’t think I’d mind staying out here for a while,” Stiles admitted, looking back up at the sky.

“As long as you like,” Derek repeated. “I’ve got nowhere to be.”

Stiles turned to kiss him lightly, smiled again, then they both settled back down to stare up at the show the universe was putting on for them.

Maybe being blindfolded wasn’t so bad after all.

**END.**


	7. Angel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One-Word Prompt Request for anonymous on Tumblr.
> 
> Request was "ANGEL" with Sterek.  
> Warnings: Mentions of sexual content

If there was one thing Derek did _not_  want to be doing tonight, it was exactly what he was about to do right this second. Because he preferred to just stay home, read a book, and not have to deal with any supernatural bullshit happening on the one night a year where there was always guaranteed to be some kind of supernatural bullshit happening.

He really would’ve rather stayed home, but Stiles had been excited about a massive party at Lydia’s—why always Lydia’s, did no one else throw parties in this town?—and Derek was a good boyfriend so he was willing to suffer the uncomfortable stupidity of drunk morons and an over-emotional drunk boyfriend.

Climbing the porch steps, he knocked on the door and heard Stiles stumbling around inside. He shouted that he was on his way down, but Derek could hear him still trying to get himself put together, so he didn’t worry about it too much. The longer Stiles took to get ready, the longer Derek could avoid being surrounded by idiot humans.

Shoving his hands in his pockets and looking around, he nodded politely to the neighbour next door who was peeking through her curtains. She hastily retreated, and Derek rolled his eyes. People were still scared of him, for the most part, which was kind of ridiculous because if he was standing on the sheriff’s porch, waiting for the sheriff’s son, whom he also happened to be _dating_ , presumably he was not a danger to society.

Everyone knew how protective the sheriff was of his son, why would he allow a dangerous criminal to date him?

Actually, of late, the sheriff seemed particularly pleased that Derek and Stiles were dating. Derek attributed it to the fact that whenever there was danger and Stiles was about to get maimed, Derek jumped in front of him to protect him. His dad probably really liked that.

Derek, not so much, because he got hurt a lot, but he’d do it as many times as he had to in order to protect his moron of a boyfriend.

The door opened and Derek turned to him, Stiles beaming at him before it slowly slid off his face.

“What are you supposed to be?”

“What are _you_  supposed to be?” Derek demanded, taking in his appearance. He was wearing what looked to be a suit with a long brown trenchcoat overtop. He’d obviously avoided shaving for a few days because he had some stubble, and his hair was styled differently.

He also had a set of angel wings on his back.

“I asked first,” Stiles insisted, crossing his arms. “Come _on_ , Derek! You were supposed to dress up!”

“I’m a Werewolf,” he informed him, flashing his eyes. “I can be ready in seconds.”

“And that’s not risky to you?”

“Why would it be risky? Who’s going to think Werewolves are real?” Derek shrugged.

Sure, he’d promised Stiles he was going to dress up for this Halloween party, but he honestly hadn’t known what to dress up _as_. He wasn’t exactly the most imaginative person on the planet, and after thinking on it for _far_  too long, he’d decided on just being himself.

Well, a Werewolf, anyway. He figured he would just show up in his beta shift and keep it going all night. The drunk idiots wouldn’t notice it was real, anyway, and this saved him time trying to figure out what to be.

“No.” Stiles grabbed his arm and yanked him into the house. “No, no. We’re not doing that. We’re going to get you into something better.”

“Seriously,” Derek insisted, shutting the door and allowing Stiles to drag him upstairs, “ _what_  are you supposed to be?”

“Hello,” Stiles insisted, turning at the top of the stairs and motioning himself. “An angel. I’m Castiel? From _Supernatural_?”

Derek tried extremely hard _not_  to laugh, but he didn’t succeed. He just burst out laughing at the absurdity of _Stiles_  dressing up as an _angel_!

“Are you serious? You? An angel?”

“I am _perfectly_  angelic!”

“Not in the bedroom, you’re not,” Derek said with a small smirk.

“Fuck you, Hale.”

Stiles dragged him into his room and started pulling off a majority of his clothes. Derek didn’t mind, this was something they did fairly often, though he had to calm his libido down a little bit considering this wasn’t sexy time.

When he was down to his jeans and boxers, Stiles tapped one foot and hummed to himself, then tilted his head from side to side.

“I feel like you’d make a good Crowley, but I don’t want to be making out with him all night. Eh, we’ll go with Dean, we can do Destiel that way.”

“What even are you saying?” Derek asked with a sigh, but he just got a hand flapped at him to shut him up and Stiles disappeared from the room. He came back with clothes that _had_  to belong to his father, and then wrestled them onto Derek.

He had to wrestle them onto him because Derek made absolutely no move to help him. He just let Stiles manhandle him how he wanted and finished the look off with a coat. Stiles tried to tweak his hair a little, then gave up and turned to dig through his closet, pulling out an obviously fake shotgun and tossing it to Derek.

“There. Now you’re comfortable, _and_  dressed up.”

“Am I an angel, too?”

“No, you’re a hunter.”

Derek’s expression soured and Stiles winced. He bounced back over to Derek, angel wings flapping slightly, and wrapped his arms around his boyfriend’s neck, pulling him down to kiss him lightly.

“Different kind of hunter, I promise. A good hunter. Who is totally banging the mega hot angel.” Stiles waggled his eyebrows and Derek rolled his eyes.

“I doubt they’re banging.”

“Not on screen, anyway.” He slapped Derek’s ass and turned, hitting him in the face with one of his wings.

That was going to be fun all night.

“Come on, let’s go or we’re gonna be late.”

“Heaven forbid,” Derek said. Stiles just turned to grin at him while going down the stairs, wiggling slightly so his wings flapped.

Derek rolled his eyes again. “Wasn’t there a demon character you could’ve been instead?”

“Hey now, don’t be like that.” Stiles opened the front door and grinned. “Haven’t you heard, Derek? The horns are just there to keep the halo straight.” [1]

“Uh huh.” Derek led the way out of the house and down towards the Camaro. Stiles was going to have to take those wings off in the car or they were going to get crushed.

It was going to be a long night, but Derek felt like he wouldn’t mind it so much. After all, once the party was over, he could take Stiles home and find out just how _angelic_  he truly was.

He definitely wouldn’t mind Stiles taking him to heaven.

**END.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] Full disclosure, I love this quote, I see it around, but idk who coined it so I can’t credit them. But I see it around a lot and it always makes me laugh – and fits Stiles to a T.  
> Supernatural (c) Eric Kripke  
> (Also, my _Supernatural_ knowledge is fairly limited as I haven’t seen many of the seasons (and certainly not recently), but I do at least know Destiel is like, a massive thing online!)


	8. Jungle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One-Word Prompt Request for 9timesoutoften on Tumblr.
> 
> Request was "JUNGLE" with Sterek.   
> Warnings: None

“Go to Brazil, Stiles.” His foot got caught in some vines and he almost fell over _and_  lost his shoe trying to free himself. “It’ll be fine, Stiles. You’re the best person suited for the job, Stiles. We’ll hold down the fort here while you go get eaten alive by mosquitoes and bears and whatever else is out here.”

“There’s no bears in the Amazon, Stiles,” Derek informed him, at least ten thousand feet ahead of him. Like a _dick_! He was just _hoping_  Stiles got eaten by a bear! Who cared if the Amazon didn’t have bears?! With Stiles’ luck, one would magically appear out of thin air and try to eat his face!

Stiles slapped at his neck when something bit him and winced at the gross insect guts on his hand, hurrying to catch up with Derek and falling flat on his face. He scrambled back to his feet, sliding on some vines, and eventually managed to reach the asshole Werewolf trying to lose him in the denseness of the jungle.

“You know what can happen to humans in jungles? Death, maiming, illness. Malaria is a thing, you know. So is rabies. And yellow fever! Why did you guys think sending a human here was smarter than _anyone_  else in our Pack? You realize the rest of you can’t _die_  out here, right? I am fragile!”

“If you don’t shut up, it’s not the jungle you’re gonna have to worry about.” Derek turned to give him a look, eyebrows raised.

Stiles flipped him off and looked around, slapping at another insect that landed on his arm. Why the fuck was everything coming to land on _him_? Derek was _right there_! Why couldn’t things land on him for a change?!

“For the record, if you ever want to take me somewhere nice for our anniversary, this isn’t it.”

“I wouldn’t take you anywhere for our anniversary, you’d just whine about the travel time and spend the entire trip complaining about your pillow.”

“You know me so well,” Stiles said with a half-smile, looking around.

It wasn’t that the Amazon wasn’t beautiful, because it was. It was super gorgeous and interesting, but a lot could kill him in here and he currently only had a mildly annoyed Werewolf for protection.

The people in town had gaped when Derek had informed them they didn’t need a guide. Or guns. Or protection of any kind. They were probably all praying right now for their newly departed souls, because they likely thought they were not coming out of this place alive.

Hell, _Stiles_  thought they weren’t going to be coming out of this place alive!

But, Deaton had insisted this was where they needed to be, so this was where they were sent.

A new big bad was in town—shocker! Something attacking Beacon Hills? No way!—and was putting people in the hospital at an alarming rate. Apparently this particular Supernatural creature was born in the Amazonian Jungle, and thus only a specific plant from a specific part of the jungle could cure the rapidly declining population of Beacon Hills. Of course.

Because it couldn’t just be like, dandelions or something. No, it had to be some super rare, super hard to find plant in the middle of the jungle. Where there were mosquitos, and disease, and lions and tigers and bears, oh my.

Okay, maybe not the bears. Or the lions. Stiles wasn’t sure, he didn’t exactly look up things that could kill him in a jungle on a regular basis, though now he was thinking he probably should have.

“If I die out here, I’m coming back to haunt _all_  of you,” Stiles informed Derek miserably, wincing in disgust when he touched a tree for balance and came back with some weird sap on his hand. He wiped it off on his pants, really hoping it wasn’t some animal’s poop.

“I wouldn’t let you die,” Derek said, phone held out and head turning while he scanned the area.

“Pretty sure you can’t punch a disease in the face, big guy,” Stiles insisted.

“If you got sick, I would just turn you.”

That gave Stiles pause and he stared at Derek’s back while the other man turned to the left and began picking his way through more trees and vines. Stiles frowned and hurried after him, tripping over something and catching himself on another sap-covered tree.

Gross.

“I don’t want to be a Werewolf, and you’re not an Alpha,” he said.

“I have people who owe me favours, I can get you the bite without any problems.”

“But I don’t want to be a Werewolf,” Stiles reminded him.

Derek stopped and turned to look at him, Stiles stopping as well. Derek pressed his lips together, letting out a soft breath before speaking.

“I know that, Stiles. I know you never want to be a Werewolf, that you’re fine being human. Happy, even. But if it came down to you dying, or you hating me for turning you into a Werewolf, I would rather live the rest of my life knowing you were alive and well, than stand by and watch you die. So if it comes down to it, and I have to make a choice, I’m going to make the selfish one. Because I can’t lose you, and I don’t care if you hate me for that decision.”

They stared at one another for a long while, and Stiles felt his throat working. Derek was one-hundred percent serious. Everyone knew that Stiles didn’t want to be a Werewolf. He was happy being human, he was happy with his life as it was. He had an Alpha best friend, a Beta boyfriend, and a lot of Supernatural friends. He was happy being the token human in their ragtag Pack, and the idea of not being able to help in a purely human capacity—with mountain ash, for example—was a little daunting.

But he believed Derek when he said he’d rather be hated than let Stiles die. It was crazy to realize that a few years ago they’d hated one another. And now Derek was basically saying he’d do anything he had to in order to keep Stiles alive.

There was a lot of tension between them at those words, and Stiles wasn’t sure how to break it. It was kind of a relief when a bug landed on his arm and he slapped at it to squash it, wincing at the bug guts and wiping his hand off on his pants.

He was going to need new pants by the time they were out of this place.

“Let’s just—let’s make it so I don’t get sick. Let’s find this stupid plant, come on.” Stiles moved past Derek to lead the way, but stopped when Derek’s hand closed around his arm, tugging him back.

“I mean it, Stiles. I won’t lose you.”

“I know, big guy.” He patted his chest, then craned his neck to kiss Derek lightly, rubbing his cheek against his stubble because Derek loved it when he did that. Like he was scenting him. Such a wolf thing, it was kind of adorable. “Come on, I’m not dead or dying yet, so let’s do this and get out of here before I _do_  get malaria.”

“You’re an idiot,” Derek informed him with a sigh, beginning to move once more, but he didn’t release Stiles’ arm.

“You love me anyway.”

“God knows why.”

Stiles grinned at him and was saved from falling over only because Derek was still holding his arm.

He couldn’t wait to get out of this fucking jungle.

Weren’t the locals going to be surprised to find them walk out alive and well.

**END.**


	9. Rain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One-Word Prompt Request for demongirl0913 on Tumblr.
> 
> Request was "RAIN" with Sterek.   
> Warnings: None

Stiles stared up at the darkening sky, watching the clouds slowly roll over the rest of the inky blackness, and knowing he should probably go inside soon. It wouldn’t be long before the storm that had hit the neighbouring counties reached him here, but he couldn’t find it in him to move right then.

He was comfortable, and calm, and at peace. Things were so much less real up on the roof, staring at the sky. It was easier to just lose himself in the silence of the world around him.

“Hey.”

Stiles started and raised his head slightly, seeing Derek climbing up over the end of the roof and making his way over to him slowly. He sat down beside Stiles, watching him while the teen himself just focussed back on the sky above him.

“What are you doing out here?”

“Thinking,” Stiles said softly. “Just reflecting on the impermanence of it all.”

Derek said nothing in response, and Stiles just kept staring up at the darkening sky. It would soon start raining, he could already feel the change in the air. The smell of ozone that pre-empted a storm.

“What are you doing here?” he finally asked when it became clear Derek wasn’t going to say anything.

“Just came by to visit. I knocked, but you didn’t answer. When I got to your window, I could smell you exiting it, so I just followed you up here.”

“Hm.” A drop of water hit Stiles in the cheek and he extended one hand out above him, squinting slightly when a few more drops began to fall, mostly just spitting at this point as opposed to full on raining. The drops made different sounds as they hit the various surfaces available. The roof, him, Derek’s leather jacket. It was kind of melodic, listening to the way things could change around him so easily.

“It’s going to storm soon,” Derek informed him, Stiles dropping his hand back onto his stomach, more drops beginning to fall.

“Yeah.”

“You should head inside.”

“Nah, rain isn’t going to hurt me,” Stiles insisted.

“Tell that to future you, who’s miserable and moping under his blankets because he caught a cold,” Derek teased, but he didn’t coax him to move.

Stiles had to close his eyes when the rain began to fall a little harder, the sound a bit louder now, but not so much that it was deafening. It would get there eventually, but for now it was tolerable. He could feel the water beginning to seep into his clothes, small patches of fabric dampening before slowly beginning to spread across everything.

Within a minute, he was soaked through, the rain falling a little harder. It bounced loudly off the roof, the drain, Derek’s jacket. His hair was plastered to his face, and his clothes were like a second skin, but he couldn’t bring himself to go inside. It was nice out here. It was peaceful, and he liked the rain.

He heard Derek let out a grunt beside him, and then his wrist was grabbed. Derek’s fingers were like fire around his skin, a stark contrast to the cold droplets raining down on him. He opened his eyes to slits, allowing Derek to pull him to his feet. He was probably going to get dragged down to his room, so he may as well not fight it.

Instead of pulling him to the edge of the roof, Derek wrapped both of Stiles’ arms around his neck and then placed his hands on Stiles’ hips, pressing his cheek against Stiles’ temple and swaying slightly.

For a few seconds, Stiles wasn’t sure what he should be doing, so he just swayed along with Derek while the rain continued to fall around them. Some drops were sliding off Derek’s hair and onto Stiles’ head, but he didn’t care.

“What are we doing?” he asked, not having to raise his voice much since he knew Derek could hear him over the sound of falling rain.

“Dancing,” Derek responded in his ear, breath hot and causing an involuntary shiver to race down Stiles’ spine.

“Why?”

“You seem like the kind of guy who likes dancing in the rain.”

“You’re such a romantic sap, Derek.”

“Yeah. Don’t tell anyone.”

Stiles could feel him smiling against his skin and he let out a soft laugh, pulling himself a step closer to Derek and folding his arms around his neck, resting his cheek on Derek’s shoulder.

He knew they couldn’t stay out there for too long. Once lightning started arcing across the sky, they’d have to go inside. Derek would probably survive being struck by lightning, but Stiles wouldn’t. And even so, he didn’t particularly _want_  Derek to be struck by lightning, that would be terrible.

An experiment in awesome, for sure, but he liked his boyfriends alive and whole, not barbecued. And Derek had a bad track record with all things zappy, so Stiles didn’t want him to go through that.

But for now, they were okay, and it was nice, swaying back and forth with Derek, feeling his heartbeat through his shirt. He could kind of hear him humming something softly, but the rain was too loud and he couldn’t make out what it was. All he knew was that Derek was swaying in time to his soft singing, and Stiles let him set the pace.

“We should do this more often,” Stiles informed him.

“Dance?”

“No. Well, yeah, dance, but just... _be_. Spend time together. Be at peace. Forget about the rest of the world for a little while.”

Derek was silent for a few seconds, then tightened his grip on him. “Yeah. We should.”

Stiles smiled and closed his eyes, pressing himself against Derek and enjoying the contrast of cold rain hitting him, versus warm Werewolf body heat. Thunder rumbled above them, and he knew they had to go inside, but he didn’t want to give this up yet.

One minute. Just one more minute.

He just wanted a few more moments of dancing in the rain with Derek before it was time to head back to their regularly scheduled lives.

He hoped it rained again soon.

**END.**


	10. Research

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One-Word Prompt Request for anonymous on Tumblr.
> 
> Request was "Research" with Stiles & Peter.   
> Warnings: Mentions of blood-sucking.

He could feel his eyes beginning to close, the exhaustion overtaking him, and sleep tugging insistently at the edges of his mind. His head was beginning to droop against his fist, cheek sliding along it slowly before he cleared his throat and forced his eyes back open, blinking rapidly a few times and then sitting up, rubbing at his eyes with both hands.

Stiles slapped at his cheeks painfully, shook his head, and then pulled the large tome closer, one hand coming up to follow along beneath the sentence he was reading. His eyes skirted to the time on his computer, and he wanted to sigh when he saw it was four in the morning.

Why couldn’t evil bullshit supernatural assholes wait until the weekend to start attacking people? Why was it always during the week, when Stiles had school? And who’d made him the research guru, anyway? It wasn’t that he was _good_  at research—though he was—but more that he fucking _did_  it. Like, anyone could do it! Lydia could certainly do it! And so could Deaton! And even fucking _Scott_!

But no. They had better things to do. Like sleep. So it was up to Stiles to pour over various books and internet references and work out how to incapacitate the giant leech-like humanoid figure sucking blood out of people.

Why wasn’t it just a Vampire? Like, why did there have to be multiple horrible, awful things that liked sucking blood? Stiles didn’t ask for much, he just wanted to have one night where he could sleep without being plagued with nightmares of giant humanoid leech things sucking the life out of him!

It was a small request! He deserved at least _that_  after all the bullshit he went through on a daily basis!

A hand appeared to his left, setting down a take-out cup of presumably coffee and Stiles almost lost control of his bladder. He flailed his arms wildly, shouted rather embarrassingly loudly, and whipped around to see who was trying to relocate his internal organs with fright.

Peter just gave him an unimpressed look, a large book under one arm and another cup of coffee in the same hand. His coffee looked to be a size bigger, which was unfair, because Peter didn’t have a job and could sleep all day. _Stiles_  was the one who’d have to try and be a functioning human being in three hours.

He really hoped he didn’t have Lacrosse practice today. Shit, _did_  he have Lacrosse practice today?

“What are you doing here?” he asked Peter, watching the creepy Werewolf wander over to his bed and take a seat on it, setting his coffee down on the nightstand so he could place the book on his lap.

“That’s not how you thank someone for doing you a favour, Stiles.”

“For all I know, you poisoned the coffee,” Stiles insisted, poking at the lid suspiciously before looking back at Peter. “What are you doing here?” he asked again.

Peter let out an aggrieved sigh, as if Stiles’ entire existence were a nuisance.

Well, Stiles hadn’t invited him into his house, so that was Peter’s problem! He kind of wished Werewolves and Vampires had the same invitation rules, that way he could keep creepy murderers out of his home.

“I was looking into our leech problem and went to get some coffee. I noticed your light was still on, and thought two heads are better than one.”

“You’re _helping_?” Stiles couldn’t _quite_  keep the surprise out of his tone and Peter gave him an annoyed look.

“I’d like to be able to leave my house without worrying about all the blood being drained from my body.”

“You should be safe down in your crypt, Dracula, leeches don’t like the cold,” Stiles informed him.

Peter gave him another look, turned back to his book, and muttered that he _should’ve_  poisoned Stiles’ coffee.

At least that meant he hadn’t yet, so Stiles pulled back the tab on the lid and took a large sip. He honestly didn’t think it would help him, he’d been drinking coffee for so long he was probably immune to its ability to keep him awake, now. But, it was something warm and jarring so hopefully it would kick-start his brain back up.

He and Peter were silent for a long while save for the occasional flipping page and sip of coffee. Whenever one of them found something that might be useful, they discussed it briefly and tried to ascertain if it was truly the beast they were facing, but after almost an hour, they were no closer to finding out what it was than they had been when they’d both first started hours before.

Stiles could feel himself fading by five-fifteen in the morning. He’d have to be up a little after seven, and he honestly didn’t know if he could make it through the school day. His dad wouldn’t like it if he skipped school to sleep, even if it had to do with the greater good, but maybe he could convince him to call in sick for him just this once.

His head began to droop again, fist sliding along his cheek and he jerked upright, clearing his throat and rubbing at his eyes. He picked up his coffee, but it was empty, so he set it back down with a sigh and rested his cheek against his fist again, eyes slowly losing their focus on the page in front of him.

When his eyes shut once more, they didn’t open again until he heard a loud bang outside and he jumped, hitting his knees on the bottom of his desk and cursing.

He glanced towards his window, realizing the sound had been a car backfiring, and jerked to his feet when he saw it was bright out, meaning it was _well_  past seven.

“Shit!” He whipped around to snap at Peter, but his bed was empty and the coffee was gone, meaning he’d likely just left once Stiles had passed out. And instead of waking him up, he’d let him sleep, like a _dick_!

Turning back to his desk to grab his phone, he paused when he saw a post-it note on the screen.

_Called in as your dad. You’ve earned the day off. - P_

Stiles blinked, wondering if Peter was going soft in his old age, and then saw there was a book on the edge of his desk with a post-it note sticking out. Stiles hastily grabbed it, flipping it open to the marked page, and realized it was _his_  book. The one he’d fallen asleep reading.

It looked like Peter had finished the research on this newest big bad while he’d been sleeping. He was about twenty pages past where Stiles had fallen asleep, which meant he _definitely_  wouldn’t have gotten any sleep before school if he’d continued on.

But they’d figured out what it was! They finally had an answer, and thus a way to incapacitate it and, in true Scott fashion, scold it into being good or the Pack would be very, very angry.

Stiles checked the time, wondering if it was worth trying to head to school, but it was almost one-thirty, which meant he’d arrive in time for two, _maybe_  three periods. There was really no point.

It was best for him to just take a nap, then head over to Deaton’s with the information he had so they could stop the son of a bitch.

Without bothering to change, Stiles just pulled off his shoes and grabbed his phone, wandering over to his bed. He fell onto it face first, intent on passing back out, but paused and looked at the post-it still stuck to his phone.

Pulling it off, he unlocked it and found his messages, opening Peter’s contact and sending him a text.

**[Stiles]**  
thx

**[Peter]**  
You snore.

Stiles let out a snort and dropped his phone, closing his eyes and snuggling into his pillow.

It was nice having a research buddy. Maybe he and Peter should do this more often.

Which was a creepy thought, given it was _Peter_ , but at least Stiles wouldn’t be stuck doing all the research on his own.

And that was always a plus.

**END.**


	11. Barbed Wire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One-Word Prompt Request for anonymous on Tumblr.
> 
> Request was "BARBED WIRE" with Sterek. (Technically two words, but barbed wire is one thing so I let it pass).  
> Warnings: Violence, blood, injured Stiles, sadism, angst with a happy ending.

Stiles was trying very hard not to breathe too quickly, but it was extremely difficult to control. He was in a lot of pain, and being in a lot of pain meant his breathing was increasing, which was making the pain even more pronounced, so he really wished it would _stop_ so he could be in a bit _less_  pain.

His arms were trembling, as well, which wasn’t helping in the pain department. But he knew all of the things happening right now were just his body attempting to deal with the amount of pain he was currently feeling.

He could feel blood slowly trailing down his hands, sliding off the ends of his fingers. He didn’t know how long he’d been there, but long enough that he was actually rather concerned about how much blood he might have lost.

Thankfully, the Hunters who had him were fucking idiots, because he’d convinced them all _he_  was the Alpha of the territory and that he would come quietly if they left the rest of his Pack alone. They were too stupid to notice that his wounds hadn’t healed up, but then again, he supposed perhaps that was the point of what they’d used to restrain him.

He was used to people using manacles or ropes laced with wolfsbane, but this was new. And painful. And unpleasant.

Instead of wasting wolfsbane on him, they’d instead bound his hands together tightly behind his back with barbed wire, the sharp edges cutting painfully into the sensitive skin of his wrists and causing blood to flow freely.

They’d put up a circle of mountain ash around him as well, just in case, but were currently planning the assault on the moronic Pack that was going to come for their Alpha. They were all adamant that the Pack would be weak without their Alpha, which was what made this entire situation laughable to Stiles.

They’d broken their word to him about leaving the Pack alone, so boy oh boy would _they_  be in for a surprise when the _real_  Alpha showed up to fucking decimate them.

Hopefully with backup, because Stiles didn’t want to be responsible for Scott getting shot. Though he recognized offering himself up as the Alpha was one of the main reasons the Pack would have to come for him to begin with, but that wasn’t the point.

Stiles just barely managed to swallow the cry of pain, keeping the sound in his throat and breathing hard through his nose when one of the Hunters kicked at the back of his chair. The jerking motion caused the barbed wire to tighten, digging further into his skin, and he clenched his hands into fists, struggling to breathe through the pain.

He’d always known Hunters were assholes, but these ones were fucking sadists. He really hoped they didn’t shoot him in the gut with a wolfsbane bullet or anything, because he would die much faster than a Werewolf would.

“Disgusting,” the Hunter said, spitting at Stiles’ feet. “Can’t wait to be rid of the lot of you.”

Stiles just clenched his jaw and glared up at the man, struggling to stay as still as possible to avoid further injury.

The man sneered while lighting a cigarette and tossed the lit match at Stiles. It landed on his left leg and he blew it out quickly, not needing to be on fire along with impaled with barbed wire, thank you.

The Hunter was still in front of him, smoking his cigarette and watching Stiles with interest. He frowned after a few seconds, tilting his head, then pulled the smoke from between his lips.

“Hey Jared, you’re sure this is the Alpha?”

“Yeah,” another Hunter called from the depths of the house they were in. “Why?”

“Sure don’t act like an Alpha.”

The man took a step closer, twisting the cigarette in his hand, and Stiles tried to lean back in his seat. His breathing came faster, hands curled into fists and the barbed wire digging harder into his broken skin. He tilted his head back when the Hunter began to bring the burning end of the cigarette closer to his face.

Shit, shit, _shit_!

Stiles could feel the heat of it against the skin of his cheek and had just clenched his eyes shut against the inevitable pain when the entire house shook at the roar of rage that echoed through it.

The Hunter turned abruptly, and they both heard gunfire and shouting. He dropped his cigarette and raced for the door just as a figure appeared in the doorway. The Hunter went flying backwards, slamming hard into the wall across the room, plaster cracking and planks of wood visible through the large gap.

He didn’t get back up.

Bright blue eyes turned to lock on Stiles, and he had never seen Derek look so angry.

Derek inhaled deeply, then growled low in his throat and rushed forward, only to stumble back when he hit the mountain ash barrier. He pressed both hands against it, growling like a wild animal.

“Stiles,” he said around a mouthful of fangs. “You’re bleeding.”

_Hadn’t noticed,_ Stiles wanted to say, but he was worried if he opened his mouth, he would throw up.

The mountain ash was only about two feet from his left foot, but it might as well have been two miles. If he shifted to break it, he was going to hurt himself further. They’d evidently wrapped the barbed wire around his wrists in such a way that when he moved even the slightest bit, it tightened. He worried it might just cut clean through, all the way to the bone.

Continuing to breathe hard through his nose, Stiles bit hard at the inside of his cheek and shifted his foot. He had to slouch a bit in his seat, letting out a small whine of pain in the back of his throat, but he managed to get his foot forward.

Derek looked like he was about to lose his fucking mind, claws scratching slowly downward at the invisible barrier and those horrible growls rising up from the depths of his chest. He’d never seen him this livid before.

Stiles finally got his foot to the mountain ash line and he broke the barrier, Derek stumbling forward a step and immediately rushing behind him. He let out a sharp exhale, then a loud growl, and Stiles let out a whimper when Derek’s hand touched his forearm.

“It’s gonna hurt,” Derek informed him. “I’ll do what I can, but I can’t take all the pain. Ready?”

Stiles nodded, clenching his eyes shut. He could feel Derek pulling at his pain, but he still let out a loud shout when he felt the sharp edges digging further into his skin, Derek’s claws working to break through the metal.

He honestly wasn’t sure that Derek _could_  break through the barbed wire with his claws alone, but when he felt Derek’s hand tighten around his forearm and more pain being pulled, he realized the restraints were loosening and a few seconds later, his hands were free.

Pulling them forward, he could feel his entire frame trembling and he stared down at his wrists. They were still bleeding heavily and he heard a loud ripping sound behind him. Derek was crouched in front of him a second later, gently wrapping a piece of the bottom of his shirt around one wrist.

“You’re stupid,” Derek informed him. He wasn’t in his Beta shift anymore, but his eyes were still blue and his fangs were still in his mouth. “How could you do something so stupid?”

“You’re one to talk about stupid decisions,” Stiles said, his voice trembling with the effort not to scream. He’d been through a lot in his life, but somehow, having the skin of his wrists pierced and dug into by sharp pieces of metal was near the top of his list on the pain factor.

Derek glanced up at him, and his face shifted into something more on the upset side, like he could smell how much pain Stiles was in. He hastily ripped the bottom of his shirt again, using the second piece to wrap his other wrist.

“Can you walk?”

“Without throwing up?” Stiles asked, because he honestly wasn’t sure.

Derek stood and reached for Stiles’ upper arm, slowly helping him to his feet. He could feel the pain coming and going, and while Derek had his jacket on over a shirt, his hand had black lines snaking up under the edge of his cuff, so he was still pulling his pain.

“You can’t do this to me again, Stiles,” Derek said, moving slowly towards the door. The fighting and shooting had subsided from outside, meaning the rest of the Pack had obviously subdued the other Hunters. “You can’t play the hero and get yourself hurt, understand?”

“You’re one to talk.”

“I’m serious.” Derek stopped, one hand still pulling Stiles’ pain and the other reaching up for his face, brushing his thumb lightly along the almost-burned cheek. “I can’t lose you, Stiles. Not you.”

“I can’t lose you either,” Stiles insisted softly. “I’m going to jump in front of danger for you as many times as it takes.”

“Guess I’ll just have to be faster.”

“Guess so.” Stiles managed a small smile and Derek kissed his forehead.

“Come on, let’s get you to the hospital.”

“Yeah. I can’t _wait_  to explain this to my dad.”

All in a day’s work for the protectors of Beacon Hills.

**END.**


	12. Angel 2.0

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One-Word Prompt Request for anonymous on Tumblr.
> 
> I mentioned Bioshock being tempting to the Angel anon, and they replied that Bioshock would've been fine so I wrote Angel a second time with Bioshock vibes because I've been watching a lot of Bioshock playthroughs lately and I am obsessed with this game >.> Sorry to anyone who knows nothing about Bioshock |D   
> Request was "ANGEL" with Sterek.   
> Warnings: Violence, Blood, BIG DADDIES!

Stiles could hear dripping. Like, a lot of dripping. A leaking faucet that was leaking fairly badly dripping. And the ground was hard. And cold. And what even was happening right now? Wasn’t he in the forest a second ago, why did it feel like everything was metallic and cold?

Blinking open his eyes, Stiles’ head was pounding something fierce, and he forced himself to sit up, looking around and a little bit confused. He could _feel_  cold metal beneath his hands, but when he looked down at the ground, it was all... marbled. It looked like marble.

“What the fuck?” He froze, reaching up to touch his throat. “The fuck? What’s with my voice?” He sounded like... actually, he had no idea. It sounded like two voices were escaping him at the same time. One high and airy, and the other low and deep. Jesus, was he possessed or something?

What had that weirdo Leprechaun _hit him_ with?!

Stumbling to his feet, he had to grab for the wall to keep himself standing, staring at his hand because it looked exceptionally small. What the fuck was going on? And why was everything so weirdly sunshiney and glittery?

Everything looked weird. Like, the wall he was touching _felt_  like it was made of metal, and yet his eyes were telling him it was plaster and painted gold. Whoever had chosen to paint their walls gold was a fucking idiot, but whatever.

And where was all that dripping water sound coming from?

Stiles started to take a step forward when he almost lost his footing, loud, booming footsteps sounding behind him and making the whole area he was standing on shake. He fell to his knees, feeling extremely weak for some reason. Like he was frail, and he noticed his right hand closed around a weird syringe.

Wait... wait, that looked familiar.

The booming steps were coming faster, and when Stiles turned to look behind him, he almost shit himself and scrambled backwards away from the large machine bolting right for him. One hand was shaped like a drill the size of a fucking _wolf_ , and the other was holding some kind of weapon—a shotgun, maybe?

“Oh Jesus!” Stiles shouted, still scrambling backwards. “Oh shit! Oh fuck me sideways!”

He hit a wall, and could go no further, so he curled into a ball and tried to cover himself up as much as possible, waiting for the inevitable when the large machine stopped in front of him.

_“Stiles?”_

The voice was deep, and distorted, and it sounded like it was echoing a little bit. But somehow, it was also strangely familiar.

Stiles lowered his hands from his face and stared up into the weird helmet with multiple glowing lights, and he felt his stomach drop.

Shit.

“Derek?”

_“What’s going on?”_  Derek had to move his entire body to look around himself, and Jesus Christ, was this actually happening?

That fucking Leprechaun had shoved them into _Bioshock_!

Probably Stiles’ fault. If it was going for a game that someone had played recently, Stiles had definitely been binging _Bioshock_  lately. But which one were they in? Or was this... like, a different version? Where they both had to survive the whole game together?

“We’re in _Bioshock_ ,” he informed Derek, slowly getting to his feet and looking around. Everything still looked peaceful and beautiful, which he didn’t understand. Who exactly _was_  he in the game?

Derek was obviously a Big Daddy—the Bouncer kind, not the Rosie kind—so was Stiles Jack? Or Delta? No, if he was Delta, he’d be in a Big Daddy suit as well. So...

He looked down at his hands again, at the syringe he held, and realized he was wearing a dress. Looking around at the beautiful surroundings, he remembered from the second one that this was how the Little Sisters saw Rapture.

“God fucking dammit all to hell, are you serious?!” Stiles demanded angrily, stomping one foot childishly.

He was allowed, he _was_  a fucking child.

“I’m a Little Sister?! Me?! Really?! Come on, I know this game, that’s not fair!” Stiles shouted at the ceiling.

_“Stiles, what the **fuck**  is going on?”_ Derek demanded, a nicely dressed man walking along behind him. He had a New Year’s mask on and he looked perfectly sophisticated, but Stiles knew it was a Splicer. And it had just spotted him and oh _fuck_!

“Splicer!” Stiles pointed past Derek. “Splicer! Get it, _get it_!”

_“What?”_ Derek turned, _much_  too slowly for Stiles’ liking, and let out a grunt when the Splicer fired at him. Stiles’ eyes shot above Derek’s head to a health bar that appeared, showing the slightest bit of damage.

“Shoot it! Derek, shoot it! Rush it with the drill! Just _do something_!”

Derek didn’t seem to understand what was going on, but he _did_  end up raising the shotgun and firing at the Splicer. It went down in a shower of blood, the world around Stiles flickering for half a second to show the _true_  Rapture and the Splicer itself before returning to the Utopian golden sunlight and marble floors view.

_“Stiles, I’m gonna need an explanation, **now** ,”_ Derek informed him, touching his armour where the bullet had hit him.

“We’re in the game _Bioshock_ ,” he explained, looking around. “Or a version of it, anyway.” _Man_  was it disorienting seeing everything in the Little Sister’s point of view. “I guess... our goal is gonna be beating the game. I think it’s like, a mix of the first and second one? You’re a Big Daddy—”

_“I’m a **what**?!”_

“—and I’m a Little Sister.” Stiles finished sourly. “So I guess... to get out, we’re gonna need to beat the game. I’m assuming we have to stay together, which means you have to protect me, and you’re _definitely_  gonna need Plasmids.”

_“What?”_

“But to get Plasmids, we’re gonna need Adam.”

_“What?! Who’s Adam?”_

Stiles shushed him loudly and waved his free hand at him, looking around. He could see magical fairy dust leading off towards the left and could only assume there was a corpse with Adam nearby for him to harvest.

Ugh. Great. This was going to be the _worst_. Stiles was familiar with the game, and he was going to have to rely on Derek the entire time. Not that he didn’t _trust_  Derek, because of course he did, but it was daunting having someone unfamiliar with the game they were playing watching his back right now.

“Okay. You’re gonna have to trust me on this, big guy.” He slapped Derek’s stomach, since that was about as high as he could reach, then held up both hands. “Help me onto your back.”

_“You’re kidding.”_

“Do you wanna win this thing or not?! I want my dick back, Derek! Put me on your back!”

He could picture the eye roll and Derek let out a loud sigh—that came out as a Big Daddy’s usual groaning noise—and then reached down and picked Stiles up. He scrambled up onto Derek’s back, and was actually surprised by how comfortable and easy it was to stay there.

He grabbed onto the edge of Derek’s helmet, glancing down at the shotgun he was holding.

“Did you spawn with that shotgun?”

_“No, I picked it up.”_

“Okay, good. Means it follows the general outline of the game. So, I get you’re a little confused, but this game is my jam, so you’re gonna have to trust me and _listen_  to me. I know it might hurt to have to listen, for once, but I don’t wanna die in this cute little dress, you hear me?”

_“Can you at least explain what’s going on in the game?”_

Stiles opened his mouth to do so, then realized it was impossible. “No, too hard. Bottom line, we’re in a place called Rapture, and the people here are all fucked in the head from too much splicing.”

_“What’s—”_

“Doesn’t matter,” Stiles interrupted. “They want this stuff called Adam, and lo and behold, the only way to get Adam is through a Little Sister, aka me. But all Little Sisters are protected by a Big Daddy, aka you. Adam is used to get Plasmids, which are like magical powers, and _totally_  unfair that you get those considering you’re already a Werewolf and _I_  should be the one getting the magical electro bolt zapping powers!”

_“Stiles,”_ Derek said, exasperated.

“Anyway,” Stiles obediently continued, despite the unfairness of it all, “this looks like it’s going to be a weird version of the game that follows some of the same rules, but obviously not all since it’s a single player game. Not sure how we’re gonna get through this, but we’ll figure that out as we go along. First things first, let’s get some Adam so you can get some Plasmids.”

Letting out a slow breath, Stiles shifted to look at the magical fairy dust leading them around the corner again. “All right, Mr. Bubbles. I see an angel. Let’s get to work.”

**END.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bioshock (c) Ken Levine


	13. Leather

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One-Word Prompt Request for cheshire-cassiel on Tumblr.
> 
> Request was "LEATHER" with Sterek.   
> Warnings: Mentions of violence, mentions of sexual content

Stiles was convinced that Derek was trying to get himself killed. That, or at the very least, _shot_. No matter how many times he came over for a little fun in the sack, he always managed to forget _something_  that his very observant sheriff dad picked out of the chaotic mess of Stiles’ bedroom.

Sometimes it was socks, or a shoe—which, really, _how_ , Derek?! How?!—which were easier for his dad to miss, but other times it was shirts, or his phone, or easily identifiable things.

Which was why today, oh, _today_  was a bad one because he could hear his dad coming down the corridor to check on him before heading to bed—his dad checked on him, it was a thing, didn’t matter how old Stiles was.

Stiles was suitably comfortable and sated after some good times with Derek, who’d left maybe a half hour ago. He was dozing, and more than ready to just pass out when his eyes caught sight of today’s forgotten item resting innocently on his desk chair, in full view of the door.

Derek’s leather jacket.

A very distinct and obvious and _recognizable_  leather jacket.

So of course, adrenaline just shot straight through him, he was now wide awake, and he propelled himself off the bed to grab at the infernal thing before diving back under the covers with it and pretending to sleep just in time for his dad to open his door.

His heart was pounding in his chest, and he could tell his dad was lingering longer than usual, but Stiles just made sure to keep his breathing deep and even. Eventually, his father turned and shut the door, allowing Stiles to heave a giant sigh of relief when he was sure he was gone.

“Really, dude?” he hissed, pulling the jacket out from under the covers and glaring at it. “How are you so fucking forgetful?”

And Stiles knew Derek wasn’t doing it on purpose, either. Because he’d been shot more than once by the sheriff and likely did not want to be out buying groceries and get a bullet in the back. Or the front.

Or the crotch.

Stiles made a face at the thought and started to shove the jacket under his bed for later when he paused. Sure, it smelled like leather, because of the material, but it also kind of smelled like Derek. And it was still warm, as if Derek’s body heart had permanently seeped into the material.

He brought it close to his face, inhaling, and let out a soft sigh, bringing it up to press it against his cheek, half-sleeping on it and the pillow. It ended up being uncomfortable, which was unfortunate, so he sat up and started to put it away again when he paused. He pulled it on instead, then glanced at his door to make sure no light was peeking through from underneath. His dad was definitely in bed, so he stood and turned on his light, then went to stand in front of his mirror, admiring himself.

The jacket was just barely too big for him, but otherwise it actually looked pretty good. And it was warm, and felt like he was enveloped in Derek’s arms and _man_  was this a nice jacket, holy shit. He wondered where Derek had gotten it, but then again, he’d had it for years so Stiles probably wouldn’t be able to buy one.

Also, leather jackets were expensive.

“I might have to steal this,” he muttered to himself, turning his light back off and wandering to his bed.

He climbed under the covers, still wearing the jacket, and rolled onto his side for sleep. It was surprisingly comfortable when it was smooshed against his face, and he felt just the right amount of warmth for the night. It was nice, it made it easier to fall asleep after the huge adrenaline surge he’d gotten.

He dozed off and on for a few minutes before finally passing out, still securely snuggled into the jacket. He only awoke with a loud snort sometime around four in the morning because someone was climbing through his window.

Normally, that was cause for panic, but he could see two bright blue pinpricks in the darkness and just whined before rolling over, showing his back to Derek. He was tired, he didn’t want to be awake again just because Derek finally realized he forgot his jacket.

He felt the covers pull back and the mattress dip, Derek sliding in beside him and moving up behind him, spooning him and kissing at his temple.

“You better not have your shoes on,” he said sleepily.

“I don’t.”

“My dad’s home.”

“I’m not staying,” Derek said with a smile in his tone, running his nose lightly along his temple. “I just came back for my jacket.”

“My jacket now,” Stiles informed him, pulling it closed more securely around him.

“I see that.” Derek laughed slightly. “It looks good on you.”

“Damn straight,” Stiles mumbled, half-asleep again.

“You smell like me, now.” Derek nose was running along his temple again. “I really like that.”

“Because the sex we have doesn’t help in that department?”

“Different kinds of scents,” Derek informed him. “Am I going to get my jacket back?”

“No.”

“Your dad might see it in the morning.”

“Don’t care. Mine now.”

Derek let out a soft laugh and kissed his cheek, then his temple before he slowly pulled away, climbing back out of bed.

“You can keep it for tonight, but I’m coming back for it later. Maybe it’ll even smell like you when I do.”

“Maybe,” Stiles mumbled, already drifting back to sleep.

“Good night, Stiles.”

He said nothing to that, snuggling into the jacket even more. If he couldn’t sleep with Derek while his dad was home, well, his jacket was the next best thing.

He could live with that.

He just hoped he didn’t forget to take it off before going down to breakfast, or his dad was _definitely_  going to have a few words for him.

**END.**


	14. Blood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One-Word Prompt Request for anonymous on Tumblr.
> 
> Request was "BLOOD" with Sterek.   
> Warnings: Blood, Torture, Hurt Derek

Stiles was going to lose his fucking mind. He was going to lose his mind, go ape-shit on everyone in the vicinity, and not know how to stop from completely losing his shit.

He understood why Scott was in the lead. Why Scott was forcing Stiles to stay behind him. Why he was adamant Stiles should _wait outside_. But he couldn’t do that.

He couldn’t _fucking_  do that!

The further into the passage they went, the more Stiles thought he was going to fucking lose his God damn mind.

His eyes were locked on the trail of blood that was slowly leading the path forward. Some splotches of blood were large, and some were small. Some sections looked like a body had been dragged through it, and some had footprints of blood.

And he knew who that blood belonged to. He knew how much of that had been lost. And God, how much _could_  he lose before he died?

Stiles knew Derek was a Werewolf. He knew he was stronger than most, that he healed up, that the injuries that had been caused were probably smooth and whole once more, but there was just _so much blood_.

What if he’d been impaled? And the weapon was still _inside_  him? Forcing the wound to remain open, struggling to heal around it before re-opening again? What if that was why there was so much fucking blood everywhere?

God, Stiles was going to be sick. He was going to be sick everywhere, and lose his fucking shit, because Derek _had_  to be okay. He had to be. Stiles didn’t know what he’d do if he wasn’t okay, and the Hunters who’d taken him would rue the fucking day they were born if Derek _wasn’t_  okay!

Scott stopped at the end of the passage, Stiles pressing into him, wanting to keep moving. He knew Scott was being sensible, doing the smart thing, trying to be cautious, but Stiles didn’t have _time_  for caution! Derek could be _dying_!

“I don’t hear anything,” Scott said softly. “I think we’re alone.”

He’d barely gotten the words out before Stiles practically climbed over him, stumbling out into the room and looking around urgently. His heart dropped into his fucking shoes at the sight of Derek.

Chain-link fences with electricity running through them seemed to be a Hunter thing, because Derek was chained up to one right now. He was breathing hard, currents of electricity seeming to hit sporadically, making him tense and jerk.

And he had a sword in his stomach.

Derek had a fucking sword in his stomach, and there was blood on the blade, and it was dripping onto the floor, and there was a puddle of it on the ground at his feet, and oh God, oh _God_!

“Derek!”

Stiles raced for the fence, only remembering at the last second that he would get electrocuted if he touched anything. Werewolves could handle this much voltage, but he couldn’t.

Looking around urgently while Scott cursed behind him, Stiles found the battery linked to the fence and hastily turned it off, yanking wires out to ensure it was fully disconnected and turning back to Derek.

He sagged against the fence, breathing hard and half-shifted. He had claws and fangs, and his eyes were blue, but everything else remained human.

Stiles angrily began pulling the various wires connected to him off his skin, feeling sick and trying to breathe through his mouth. It wasn’t helping, the metallic tang of blood overwhelming, and he cupped Derek’s face, patting one cheek lightly when his eyes rolled.

“Derek? Hey, stay with me. Stay with me, big guy. We’re gonna get you out of here, okay? You’re gonna be okay. I’m right here.” He turned to Scott, who was glancing nervously down the passage they’d come from. “Scott, I need you.”

His friend looked uncomfortable leaving his post, but obediently rushed over. It looked like he didn’t want to get any closer, probably because the scene was fairly gruesome, but this was Derek, and Stiles would _not_  lose him!

“Hold him,” he ordered, moving to the sword hilt. His fingers trembled when he touched it, but he forced himself to steady his hands, closing both of them around the hilt while Scott pressed against Derek.

He waited for Scott to nod, then Stiles turned his face away and wrenched the sword out of Derek’s stomach. There was a howl of pain, the room shaking with the force of it, but Stiles just dropped the sword and moved back in front of Derek, grabbing his face with both hands, Scott still pushing him back against the fence.

“Hey, it’s over. It’s okay. You’re okay.” He shifted to press one hand against the wound, trying to stanch the bleeding. He knew the wound would heal quickly, the skin already moving beneath his hand, but Derek had been stung up for hours with electricity coursing through him and a sword in his gut, so it was understandable that his eyelids were flagging.

“I’ve got him,” Scott said. “Find the keys, we need to get him out of here.”

Stiles didn’t want to leave him, but he knew Scott was right. They had to get him out now, before the Hunters came back. The Pack could only keep them distracted for so long.

He turned quickly back to where the battery was, searching through all the available drawers and knick-knacks.

No keys. They were probably with one of the Hunters, which made sense, but was severely stress-inducing right then.

Stiles tried picking the locks, but he wasn’t a master lock-pick, and they were running out of time.

Scott ended up slicing through the fence instead, catching Derek before he hit the ground, and he and Stiles hastily pulled one arm each over their shoulders and dragged him from the room as quickly as they could.

He felt sick when he looked down and saw blood all over his shoes.

Derek’s blood.

The Hunters were going to fucking _pay_  for this.

**END.**


	15. ATLA

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One-Word Prompt Request for ackleholics on Tumblr.
> 
> Request was "ATLA" with Sterek. (Technically not a word, but I do love ATLA!)  
> Warnings: None.

Today was an important day. Today was the most important of days ever. Today was going to determine whether or not Stiles could tolerate to still be dating Derek, or if he had to cut ties with him immediately and banish him from his house for the rest of time. A huge and heartbreaking decision, but one that had to be made. He had no choice. It had to be done. Today was the day.

Yes, today was the day that Derek was, for the first time ever, watching _Avatar: The Last Airbender_. And Stiles had _feelings_  about it, okay! It was hands down one of the best cartoons in existence, if not _the_  best!

When Derek had told him he’d never seen it, it had hurt Stiles almost as much as when Scott had admitted he’d never watched _Star Wars_. Except at least Derek was willing to give it a shot, unlike Scott, who _wanted_  to be miserable, apparently.

And now was the moment of truth. Because he and Derek had been watching the show all morning, and it had taken everything Stiles had in him not to ask what he thought of it. It was always hard to tell with Derek, since he was just sitting there with his arms crossed and his expression blank.

But they’d made a deal. They’d made a deal, and Stiles was dying trying to hold up his end. Because they had agreed that Derek would watch _five_  episodes without prompting or complaint, and in those five episodes, Stiles was _not_  allowed to ask for his opinion.

They were both supposed to sit there, watch the five episodes in silence, and after the fifth one they could either stop—wherein Stiles would kick Derek out of his house for having poor taste—or continue.

And they were thirty seconds out from the end of the fifth episode, and Stiles couldn’t concentrate on the screen because he was too busy staring at Derek, practically vibrating in his seat with the need to ask him, to just _ask him_ , and oh God, if Derek hated it, Stiles didn’t know what he would do with himself!

When the ending theme came on, Stiles instantly paused it and stared wide-eyed at Derek.

“So? What do you think? What are your thoughts? Do you like it? Is it amazing? Are you enjoying it? Is it good? What do you think?”

“Stop.” Derek turned to him, heaving a huge sigh and uncrossing his arms.

Stiles’ heart sank. Oh God, Derek didn’t like it. This put into question everything about their relationship!

Not really, Stiles wasn’t going to dump him over a TV show, but this was catastrophic! Who _didn’t_  like _Avatar_?! Even Scott liked it, and Scott was super picky and stupid and didn’t like _Star Wars_!

Derek let out a slow breath and shook his head, Stiles sagging at the action.

Then he said, “We need to re-evaluate our relationship. I might be in love with Sokka.”

Stiles cheered, throwing both hands in the air and then leaned heavily into Derek, hugging him tightly and resisting the urge to nuzzle him. “You like it! Oh, thank God! This is amazing! I’m so happy! Isn’t Sokka great? He’s so great! I love him! And Toph! But you don’t know Toph yet, she’s the ea—”

“No spoilers,” Derek insisted, grabbing the remote from his hand and returning to the main menu so he could start the next episode. “Don’t ruin this for me, I haven’t seen it before. These past five episodes of silence were heaven for me because you weren’t talking over the dialogue.”

“I can be quiet! For _Avatar_ , I can be quiet. Zip my lips right shut. Mm hm.” Stiles made a zipping motion and Derek gave him a sceptical look.

Stiles just grinned at him, still leaning into him and was so, so fucking happy. This show was the best, and he was so thrilled that Derek actually liked it because he honestly wasn’t sure that he would. It was a little childish at times, but still so fucking entertaining and he loved it so much!

“Sokka reminds me of you,” Derek admitted softly, still navigating to the next episode. “Probably why I like him so much.”

“Does that make you Zuko?” Stiles asked with a grin.

“I’ve got more hair than him.”

“True. And, let’s be real, I’d _much_  rather make out with you than Zuko.”

Derek rolled his eyes. “That’s a relief. Here I was, super worried you were going to leave me for the evil prince of the Fire Nation.”

Stiles had to bite his tongue to avoid spoilering anything. He just buried his face in Derek’s arm and let out a loud laugh, then settled in comfortably against him since it was obvious Derek wanted to continue without being interrupted.

When it was clear Stiles was done having his little freakout, Derek started the next episode and wrapped his arm around his boyfriend, pulling him further into his side.

Stiles opened his mouth to comment on what was happening, but before he even managed it, a hand was over his mouth, Derek shushing him. Stiles pouted behind the hand, but obediently remained silent.

Derek was right, though. He had to be able to enjoy the amazingness that _was_  this show without the background commentary, no matter _how_  tempting it was.

But Stiles might spoil him, and he didn’t want that. He’d already let slip about Toph, and just hoped they’d get through all of season one quickly so they could start season two, where she’d be introduced.

It was going to be extremely hard keeping his comments to himself, but for Derek’s first time watching _Avatar_ , Stiles could do that. Stiles could keep his thoughts to himself, he could save all the comments for when they did a re-watch. No problem. No siree. He could do this.

“I still can’t believe Zuko’s the one who teaches him firebending.”

“Stiles!”

**END.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Avatar: The Last Airbender (c) Bryan Konietzko & Michael Dante DiMartino  
> Star Wars (c) George Lucas


	16. First Kiss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One-Word Prompt Request for anonymous on Tumblr.
> 
> Request was "FIRST KISS" with Sterek. (It was more of an ask as to when I thought it was and I turned it into a prompt...)  
> Please note I've never seen past Season 4.  
> Warnings: None.

He should be productive. He _knew_  he should be productive. He was nearing the end of his summer vacation, he was going to be a senior, he had to set an _example_. He was already extremely immature for his ripe old age of eighteen, and he knew it, so really, he needed to make sure he was setting a good example for the little ones.

But it was so hard.

Summer was almost over, and he didn’t want to do anything productive, even though he knew he should, and was wasting time just sitting there watching _Star Wars_ for the gazillionth time. Seriously, he should be getting paid for how often he watched these movies. He knew them better than George Lucas probably did.

He also knew he should get up and make dinner, but he was lazy, and if his dad wasn’t home for him to feed, Stiles didn’t want to take the time to work on it. He’d much rather order pizza. Or Chinese. Or Indian. Or basically anything that delivered so he didn’t have to leave the house.

He was in the middle of doodling on a random piece of paper while lying almost upside down on his bed, half-watching the movie playing on his television when the doorbell rang and he almost fell off the edge of the bed. Jerking upright, he dropped the pen and managed to get to his feet without injuring himself, rushing out of the room and down the stairs.

A part of him didn’t even know why he was excited, but he figured his hungry stomach was confused and thought it was food being delivered. He knew it wasn’t, he hadn’t called to order any yet, so it would be pretty amazing if food magicked itself into existence without his prompting!

Reaching the first floor, he hurried to the front door and pulled it open, a little surprised at who he found standing on his doorstep.

“Derek. Hey. What’s up?” His face fell. “Is someone dying? I need food before I deal with any near-death experiences, so if we gotta go, I’m gonna need a minute to make like, a sandwich or something.”

“What?” Derek frowned. “No, no one is dying.”

“Oh, good!” He paused. “Why are you here then? Is it research? It’s research. Dude, summer’s almost over, can’t you jus—”

“It’s not research.”

“Oh.” Stiles had nothing else then. Because it was usually death or research so if it was neither, he was at a loss. “What’s up?”

Derek looked uncomfortable and nodded his chin behind Stiles. “Can we talk?”

“Sure.” Stiles backed up so Derek could walk into the house and then shut the door. He led the way to the kitchen, mostly because now that he was up he really should eat something, but also because he had to get Derek a drink. It was polite. Even though Derek usually climbed through his window and didn’t get offered drinks.

He was in the middle of pulling a glass out of the cabinet to grab Derek some water when he spoke.

“I’m leaving.”

He fumbled the glass and it fell to the ground, shattering and spilling broken shards across the immediate area. Stiles turned without moving his feet, Derek sighing and going to get a broom. When he came back, Stiles hadn’t moved, staring at him while he wordlessly began to sweep up the mess around Stiles’ bare feet, keeping his eyes on the task at hand.

“What?” Stiles finally managed to get out. “You’re—when? Why?”

“Tonight,” Derek said, bending down with the dustpan to collect what he’d swept up. He threw it out in the trash, then returned to continue to sweep, evidently worried he’d miss something that Stiles was going to step on.

“But— _why_?” he asked again.

Derek said nothing for a long while until he was positive the area was clear of any broken glass, and then leaned the broom against the counter, crossing his arms and finally meeting Stiles’ eye.

“Kate.”

Right. She’d gotten away. She was still out there.

“You’re going after her.”

“Someone’s got to stop her,” he argued.

Stiles supposed it made sense. He supposed it wasn’t unusual to imagine Derek wanted to head out to ensure the person who’d murdered his family wouldn’t hurt anyone else. He didn’t know what Derek planned on doing, whether he was going to kill her or just hand her over to some Hunters or what, but he didn’t want to ask.

She deserved whatever she got for what she’d done to Derek. To his family.

“Does Scott know?”

“I haven’t told anyone,” Derek said. “Just you.”

Stiles nodded slowly, letting out a slow breath and rubbing at his face. He didn’t really know what to say. He didn’t want Derek to go, he was a constant in his life. Ever since Scott had become a Werewolf, Derek was just... _there_. He’d always been there. It was going to be really weird the first time something happened and Derek just... didn’t show up.

He had no idea how to feel about that. He didn’t want him to leave, he wanted him to stay, but it felt selfish asking him that. Asking him to forget about the woman who’d ruined his life, and just stay behind for him.

“I’ll come back.”

Stiles’ eyes shot up to Derek at that. They stared at one another for a few seconds, and Derek took a slow step forward, his arms crossed and his eyes locked on Stiles’.

“I’m coming back,” he said, more of a promise this time. “This is just something I need to do.”

“Yeah,” Stiles said quietly. “Yeah, no, I get it. Yeah. You need—it’s fine, I get it.” He didn’t know what he wanted to say, so he just left it at that. “Cool.”

“Right.”

They stood in silence for a long while, Stiles crossing his own arms defensively and shifting his weight.

He still hadn’t gotten Derek his water.

“Well,” he said, not even knowing the rest of the sentence yet, “uh, just—be careful. Watch yourself, okay? You’re not—I won’t be there to save your ass, so...”

“Yeah,” Derek said, taking another slow step forward.

Stiles really didn’t know what to say. He kind of wanted to insist Derek should just _stay_ , that they _needed_  him, that he was making a mistake leaving. But that wasn’t fair, and he didn’t want to be selfish, so he just stared at the ground, trying to gather his thoughts, because he had to say something encouraging, and be thoughtful, but his mind was kind of a mess right now and—

“Stiles?”

He looked up, and one of Derek’s hands was on his cheek, and he leaned forward until their lips were pressed together, and oh.

Derek was kissing him.

Derek’s lips were on his, and he was kissing him.

Stiles stood frozen for a few seconds until Derek pulled away, one hand still on his face, thumb brushing against his cheek.

“Oh,” he said, because he didn’t know what else to say.

“I just—needed you to know,” Derek said, letting his hand drop and taking a step back. “I’m leaving. But I’m coming back.”

Stiles kept staring at him and then nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re coming back. Good.”

“Yeah.”

Silence.

“I’ll see you around, Stiles.”

“Yeah. Because you’re coming back,” he repeated. “You’re coming back, Derek.”

“I’m coming back,” he promised. “Take care of yourself.”

“You too,” he blurted out as Derek turned to leave the kitchen. “You be careful! Watch your back! Don’t get killed! And come back!”

“I will.”

Stiles shook himself out of his frozen state and rushed after Derek, who was striding quickly to the door.

“You should like, text me. Or call me. Or you know, just text me. Easier. Faster.”

“Yeah.”

“Cool.”

Derek had opened the door and was walking down the porch steps, but he stopped at the bottom and turned back to look at Stiles, who was gripping the door so tightly he was pretty sure it was the only thing holding him up.

“I’ll text you.”

“Yeah,” Stiles said. “You better. Be safe.”

Derek nodded once, eyes never leaving Stiles’ face, then he turned and headed down the drive. He climbed into the Camaro, started it, and then drove away without a second’s hesitation.

Stiles stood at the door for a long while, one hand moving up to touch his lips and mind racing.

Derek had kissed him. Derek had left.

And Derek was _coming back_.

“Oh.”

**END.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Star Wars (c) George Lucas


	17. Radio

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One-Word Prompt Request for redstitcher on Tumblr.
> 
> Request was "RADIO" with Sterek.   
> Warnings: Mentions of sexual content

When Stiles reached out for the dial, he definitely did _not_  think he deserved the rather aggressive swat he received that most likely broke every single bone in his hand. Letting out a shout and over-dramatically clutching the hand to his chest, he turned to punch at the person seated beside him with his uninjured hand.

And likely promptly broke every bone in _that_  hand, too.

“What the hell, Derek! Ow!”

“Don’t touch the radio,” Derek said, eyes on the road and keeping up with Lydia’s car ahead of them. “I like this station.”

“That is so unfair!” Stiles insisted. “When you’re in the Jeep, it’s all ‘passenger gets bored and deserves to choose the station’ but in your car it’s ‘driver gets all the choices’?!”

“You have horrible taste in music.”

“My taste in music is _amazing_! Fuck you!”

Derek said nothing, continuing to drive, and very maturely started humming along to the song playing on the radio, as if to rub salt in the wound.

Actually, he was definitely rubbing salt in the wound, like an asshole. An asshole who was going to regret it later when the bed arrangements were being discussed and Stiles _very maturely_ bunked with Scott! No hanky panky for the asshole radio police!

Stiles sulked and slouched in his seat, crossing his arms and glaring out the windshield, letting Derek have his fun with the music playing. He just had to catch him off guard. Unawares. He had to be stealthy, like a ninja.

He waited until the song was almost over, then hastily reached for the tuner, his hand being smacked again. He smacked Derek’s hand back and tried again, but Derek just shoved one hand against Stiles’ chest to press him back against the seat and he strained, attempting to reach the radio. Stupid Werewolf strength, it wasn’t fair!

“It’s not fair! Just—let me—!” Stiles struggled to shift his body around so he could reach the damn thing, but Derek was holding him _just_  right, and his arms were too short. Curse his tiny little arms!

“Leave it,” Derek said, turning to glare at him before facing forward again. “Driver picks the music.”

“Except in the Jeep! Where passenger picks the music, apparently! What, if you were driving the Jeep, it’d magically be ‘driver picks the music’ again?”

“Yes.”

“You like the same music as my _dad_! You have old people taste in music, Derek! Old people taste! And it’s a commercial!”

“I like commercials.”

“Who likes commercials?!” Stiles demanded, flailing his arms, narrowly avoiding hitting Derek in the face. Would’ve served him right. “Nobody likes commercials, Derek!”

“I do.”

Stiles stared at him for a second, and then redoubled his efforts to reach the radio. The car swerved, Derek’s attention only half-focussed on the road, but they were on a highway and Stiles knew he wouldn’t get into an accident. Werewolf reflexes and all that.

Twisting in his seat enough that he could get Derek’s hand off his chest, he wrapped one arm around it with a triumphant cry and then moved to switch the station to his preferred one, grinning at the music coming through the speakers.

He knew it likely wouldn’t last long, since he wasn’t going to be able to keep hold of Derek’s arm for forever, but for a few seconds at least, he relished in his victory. He’d defeated the mighty Werewolf in the battle for the radio. He had to take every win he could get.

Derek rolled his eyes, and when he tugged his arm free, Stiles let him—not that he had much of a choice. At least Derek hadn’t injured him any further in his attempts to free himself.

“You win. Congratulations.”

“Damn straight!” Stiles said with a grin, settling back in his seat and pleased that he’d won.

He fully expected Derek to change the station back, like an asshole, but he didn’t. He just stared out the windshield and after a few seconds, he began to hum along to the song playing.

Which was suspicious, because if Stiles had such horrible taste in music, why did Derek know the tune to the song that was playing? That made no sense for someone who claimed they didn’t ever listen to the new-age pop bullshit he claimed Stiles liked. And this song was pretty brand spanking new, so how did he know it?

Derek noticed him looking at him out of the corner of his eye and immediately stopped humming, Stiles narrowing his eyes further.

It took him a few seconds to clue in, and based on Derek’s expression, he was severely hoping that Stiles _wouldn’t_.

“Oh my God! Oh my _God_!” He punched Derek hard, breaking his hand all over again and shaking it out with a wince, but still kind of pissed. “This is fucking foreplay to you! Every time we argue and fight about the radio, it’s followed up by mind-blowing sex! You do this on _purpose_!”

“No idea what you’re talking about,” Derek insisted, affecting innocence.

And _failing_.

“Oh my—bickering is a turn on for you?! Really?! You let me suffer through horrible music just because you like to bicker?! You know we can bicker about _literally_  anything else! I am easy to pick a fight with!”

“I had to suffer through shitty music, too.”

“That was your choice!” Stiles insisted, flailing. “You’re unbelievable! _Unbelievable_ , Derek!”

“At least the sex’ll be good today.” Derek smirked, glancing at him out of the corner of his eye. “You’re pretty worked up.”

“No hanky panky today!” Stiles informed him, slouching and crossing his arms. “You are banned from the hanky panky for this! Can’t believe you!”

“Mmhm. We’ll see how long that resolve lasts,” Derek said, still smirking.

“Forever. For _ever_!”

It lasted two hours and thirty-seven minutes, which was coincidentally the same amount of time it took them to reach their destination and disappear into a room.

Derek was the _worst_!

**END.**


	18. Bunnies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One-Word Prompt Request for 9timesoutoften on Tumblr.
> 
> Request was "BUNNIES" with Stiles & Derek.  
> Warnings: None.

When Stiles pulled up to Derek’s house out in the preserve, he knew immediately that something was very, very wrong.

For one thing, the front door was wide open. And for another, he could hear the Werewolf swearing and cursing inside the house, vicious snarls escaping him as if he were being attacked.

Stiles didn’t think. He just grabbed his trusty bat and kicked open the driver’s side door, rushing out of the vehicle and into the house. His bat was raised while he cautiously made his way towards the source of the struggle, hearing Derek swearing up a storm before he growled loudly.

It sounded like he was in the kitchen, so Stiles steeled himself, then leapt through the door with his bat raised, ready to smash some supernatural beast over the head.

There was no supernatural beast.

Stiles froze, watching Derek struggle with an adorable-looking brown bunny. He was holding it firmly in both hands while it struggled and kicked out its tiny little back legs, attempting to get free from the tight hold.

“Why do you have a bunny?” Stiles asked.

“I don’t _have_  a bunny,” Derek snarled, blue eyes rising and flashing menacingly at Stiles. “The stupid thing ran into the house when I was coming back from my run earlier.”

“Oh.” Stiles kept staring. “Is there a reason you’re acting like it’s a monster attacking you?”

“It took me almost an hour to _catch_  it!” Derek insisted, still holding it tightly and beginning to move around Stiles so he could head for the open front door. “I don’t want it wiggling free again.”

“Really?” Stiles asked incredulously. “You’re a predator, you can turn into a wolf, and you couldn’t catch a bunny?!”

“I didn’t want to _kill_  it!” Derek snapped, heading for the front door. “I just wanted it out of my house.”

Stiles stayed by the kitchen door, resting his bat against one shoulder and watching Derek head down the corridor. He needed to stay where he was, otherwise Derek would blame him when something happened.

This was Derek, something was _bound_  to happen.

Sure enough, he’d almost made it to the door when he started cursing, the mass in his hands wiggling violently. Stiles wasn’t entirely certain what happened, since he could only see Derek’s back, but his head snapped up like someone had just punched him in the chin and the bunny was on his shoulder before bounding off onto the banister and hopping up out of sight.

“Dammit!” Derek roared, turning around and glaring angrily at Stiles.

He held up his free hand in surrender. He hadn’t moved, this was _so_  not his fault.

Though he did grin. “So. It kick you in the chin or something? It’s elusive, good at hiding, can escape even a known predator with ease, and kicked you in the chin. You raising ninja bunnies?”

“It’s not _mine_!” Derek snapped, beginning to stomp to the stairs and climbing to the second level. “Just help me!”

Rolling his eyes and setting his bat down on the table, he obediently followed Derek towards the second floor, shutting the front door on his way by because that was just _asking_  for more bunnies to break into his house. And it wouldn’t even be a break-in, because he was leaving his door wide open. That was an invitation, really.

He couldn’t wait to tell the rest of the pack that Derek was bested by a _bunny_ , of all things. Poor Derek.

He was never living this down.

Wandering down the corridor after Derek, who was sniffing the poor animal out, Stiles was slowly and methodically shutting all the doors they passed because the smart thing to do when trying to catch an animal was corner it. Derek had probably just been running after it all day without even bothering to _think_.

When they finally entered the room it was supposedly in, Stiles shut that door as well when they were both inside. Because it meant the bunny couldn’t just rush out into the corridor if they both missed it.

Derek inched silently around the bed, looking at Stiles and motioning it.

“You know it can’t understand us, right?” Stiles asked, giving Derek a look.

“But it can _hear_  us! You’re giving away our position!”

“Derek, it’s a bunny, not a Chimera.” Stiles rolled his eyes and got to his hands and knees, shifting closer to the bed and peeking under it.

The poor thing was huddled up by the wall near the opposite front leg, so still that Stiles thought it might’ve given itself a bunny heart attack.

“Is the big bad wolf being a meanie poo pants?” Stiles asked, grinning at the growl he received in response. “He wouldn’t hurt a fly. Unless the fly’s name is Stiles, in which case, he’ll definitely hurt it. You’re not named Stiles, are you?”

“Stiles,” Derek warned.

“Yeah, yeah.” He rolled his eyes again and got onto his stomach. “Lift the end of the bed, will you?”

Derek obediently moved to the base of the bed and lifted it up enough for Stiles to army-crawl under it. The bunny just watched him, and Stiles was positive it was going to dart away from him, but he managed to reach out and grab it by the fur.

He didn’t know if bunnies were like cats, where grabbing the scruff of their neck stopped them from wiggling around, but it let him _catch_  it, at least. He crawled out the other side and pulled it into his arms, holding it tightly.

It was clear the bunny wanted to be set free, but it wasn’t wiggling around as much as it had been with Derek. Probably because Stiles was human and thus not interested in eating it for dinner.

Not that Derek was planning on eating it for dinner, but the poor little bunny didn’t know that!

He motioned for Derek to open the bedroom door, which he did once he’d set the bed down and the two of them went quickly down the stairs. Derek opened the front door and Stiles hurried down the porch steps, setting the bunny down on the grass and watching it hop away at rapid speed.

“Bye little bunny!” Stiles waved after it. “Be sure to visit!”

“No,” Derek snapped, as if the bunny could understand them.

Stiles turned to grin at him, and noticed in his haste to enter the house, he’d actually forgotten to close the Jeep’s door. Moving forward to do just that, he had just reached it and was about to close it when he froze.

There was a skunk sitting on the driver’s seat, facing Stiles, with its tail slightly raised and more than ready to spray him at one wrong move.

Stiles very slowly backed away from the Jeep, which had Derek beside him instantly, gripping his arm tightly and looking in at the threat.

He also froze and after a few seconds, they shared a look.

Derek glanced back in at the skunk, then at Stiles, and shook his head, releasing his arm. “You’re on your own.”

“What?! Derek! I helped get rid of the bunny!”

“Bunnies are cute. You’re on your own.”

“Derek!”

**END.**

 

**Author's Note:**

> Come chill with me on [Tumblr](https://isthatbloodonhisshirt.tumblr.com/)


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